


Compromise

by xCake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Co-Parenting, Drama, Eventual Smut, Ex-relationship, F/M, Fluff, I'm not kidding, Idiots in Love, Mom!Reader, Separation Anxiety, Slow Burn, THEY ARE I D I O T S, Violence, dad!bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-11-08 06:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20831090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’dalwayswanted that. It just required a compromise.[ Bucky x Reader ]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really don’t need to be working on yet another WIP but here I am, like a clown!
> 
> Written for a request on Tumblr.

It all started with some of the best sex you’d ever had in your life.

You know the kind. Rough and desperate. Needy. Passionate. The kind straight out of a romance novel, blazing hot and full of love. The kind that, even four years later, served as inspiration for your fantasies– even if you despised the man responsible.

No, that was a lie. You didn’t despise him. You just wished that you did.

It made your toes curl then, and the memory of it still did, even now. The only difference was that you used a toy. That was all you could do, because in between your job managing a small café and your three-year-old daughter’s care, you had zero time for dating. You were Winnie’s mother and primary caregiver, because of _course_ you were.

Her father was the Winter Soldier, after all.

The two of you split when Winnie was just thirteen months old. Unsurprisingly, the court didn’t give Bucky custody, not when so much of his past was bound by red tape. You knew that it wasn’t his fault, the things he’d done, but you were still surprised he’d gotten anything at all. Not only was Avenging a dangerous line of work, but it was the exact reason why you’d left.

He only got to see her once a month, with supervised visits – visits that were much harder on you than on your daughter, but you put on a brave face just for her. Maybe some small part of it was for yourself, too. You were still in love with him – or with the idea of him, you weren’t sure anymore, but the fact remained that he chose his work over his new family out of some misguided idea of making up for the awful things he’d done.

He chose Steve. He chose Sam. He chose his past over his present.

Not you.

The visits were difficult, but manageable – when he even managed to show up, of course. It was about fifty-fifty whether or not he’d show, usually because of work and he often tried to reschedule last minute, which you eventually started to refuse. You and Winnie had a set schedule, and you’d be damned if you deviated from it because of him and his neverending excuses.

You did try, once. You tried to work with him, tried to empathize – at least until he rescheduled three Saturdays in a row and Winnie’s poor little heart shattered to pieces. She was inconsolable for weeks, and needless to say, you stopped trying after that. He didn’t deserve it, not when he hurt your young daughter so easily.

Your usual meet-up place was the small park near your house. There wasn’t much else around, anyway, not like inner city Manhattan which you so desperately missed. You couldn’t afford to live there on your meagre barista salary, so you moved shortly after your trainwreck of a break-up. Moving caused an even bigger rift between you and Bucky, one only worsened by heated arguments and nasty words.

Upstate was where you moved, about three hours away from the city.

Upstate was where Bucky was living now, too, about fifteen minutes from your home.

He broke the news during an impromptu lunchtime visit to your café, one you especially did not appreciate due to the fact that he'd shown up at your workplace. It was almost like he’d known you wouldn’t be able to leave, as you so often did when he tried to talk to you about anything. You always put on a smile for your daughter when you dealt with him, but she wasn’t here and you had no reason to be nice.

The mug in front of you sat untouched as you stared down at the coffee within, delicate latte art slowly melting away while you processed what he’d just said. He was going to be just a few miles down the road at the new Avengers facility, and though he didn’t say it outright, the implication was enough: he could come here anytime he wanted to; could pick Winnie up from preschool anytime he wanted to; could see her anytime he wanted to, court order be damned.

You’d been reduced to nothing more than a barrier keeping him away from his daughter – _your _daughter – and it stung. Then again, that was what you’d become. That was what you’d been _forced_ to become, because of him. 

A barrier. 

A bitch.

“I want to see her more,” he told you, but his cordial tone did nothing to hide the thinly-veiled threat. “It’s been years since the last agreement. Things are different now.”

_Don’t make me get a lawyer _was what he meant.

What’s worse was that you knew he was right. He’d been cleared of all charges, and although his work wasn’t exactly ideal for childrearing, he earned much more money than you did. Not only that, but with the compound right down the road, there was no way he’d be denied this time. If the two of you went back to court, he'd get joint custody. Fifty-fifty. Equal. You knew it, and he did, too. He was forcing your hand.

“You barely make it to your monthly visits as it is,” you responded evenly, though inside you were about ready to scream. “How are things different, Bucky?”

“I’m close by. We’re training more Avengers, so my hours are flexible. I’ve already talked to Steve.”

Why couldn’t he have talked to Steve two years ago?

“I can show you around the compound, if that’s what you want. It’s better than the tower.”

You remembered the tower. You _hated_ the tower. It was no place to raise a child, what with all the missions and the parties and the late-night take-offs which constantly woke Winnie from her sleep. The one good thing it had going for it was the security. 

Somehow, he’d remembered your gripes. You couldn’t decide if you should be flattered or not.

“I’ve even got a spare bedroom for her now, sweetheart. Can’t we make this work?”

“Don’t call me that,” you finally snapped, to which Bucky held his hands up in a show of surrender. He didn’t offer an apology, but then again, you didn’t want one. You didn’t want any of this.

Except maybe you did.

You chewed your lower lip, coffee now long forgotten in favour of worrying about the future. You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, he broke your heart just a little more.

Deep down, though, you _wanted_ to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. 

You’d _always_ wanted that.

And if you didn’t, then the next step would be a lawyer. You didn’t have the time or the money for another custody battle, whereas Bucky had plenty of both and he certainly had no qualms about going down that route. This visit was just a last-ditch effort before he did.

“Fine,” you acquiesced through grit teeth, “but I want to see it first.”

“Yeah?” he asked, blue eyes wide with surprise.

For a moment, you were rendered speechless. God, you hadn’t seen him look at you like that in years. The last time probably would have been when you told him that you were pregnant with Winnie.

Even now, you were still so weak for him. You always managed to stay strong for your daughter, but never for yourself. You missed him, and, well, it wasn’t like you had a choice in the matter either way.

“Yeah,” you repeated, reluctant and hollow.

* * *

That weekend, you found yourself staring up at the gates to the compound in awe through the windshield of your small beater. The compound was indeed much larger than the tower had been; you couldn’t see much from the road, but there was plenty of acreage. Plenty of room for Winnie to run around and play, almost, if it wasn’t practically a military base.

When you pushed a button, the CCTV camera came to life, whirring as it likely zoomed in your faces through the side windows of your car. “Ma’am, this is the Avengers Facility. You might have the wrong—”

You abruptly interrupted him with your name, followed by, “And this is Winnifred Barnes. B-A-R-N-E-S.”

There was a long pause, then, as the guy on the other end seemed to realize who you were. Then he had an immediate change of tone. “Oh, that’s— that’s today! Right! I’m so sorry, ma’am!”

Ugh. You weren’t old enough to be a ‘ma’am.’ 

Were you?

After the gate started to open, you slowly made your way up the long driveway, humming quietly to yourself to calm your nerves. That was when Winnie started to sing along with you, the same off-key tune that the two of you often sang together in the bathtub. She’d never been a fan of baths, so you used the song as a distraction. Now it was supposed to be your distraction, but it didn’t work very well.

You parked next to a small fleet of shiny black cars with tinted windows, feeling just as out of place now as you did when you and Bucky were dating. You’d always made coffee for a living, while he was… _him_. How you even managed to make it work for nearly two years was beyond you, as brief and fleeting as your whirlwind romance had been.

“Is Daddy here?” Winnie asked excitedly, peering out the windows at the large complex of buildings. Her breath fogged up the glass and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Yes, baby,” you told her as you got out of the car and slung your purse over one shoulder, before you opened her car door. “Daddy’s here. We’ll see him soon.”

She bounced happily as you unbuckled her from her car seat, and then you hoisted her up onto one hip and shut the door with your free hand. After that, you slowly made your way up the steps to what you assumed was the main building.

Christ, this place was massive.

Just before you got to the top, the glass double doors up ahead were shoved open and there was Bucky in all his glory – tall and muscular, just like always, albeit almost out of breath. His hair was pulled back into a loose, messy bun, strands of hair framing his face in the familiar way you’d always loved, and the stubble on his face nearly made you swoon.

You hated that you were still attracted to him. 

“Sorry, we’re a little early,” you admitted, nodding to your daughter. “_Some_one wanted to see you.”

As if on cue, Winnie shouted, “Daddy!” and reached out for him with her little arms, making grabby hands in his direction. She was so eager that you might have dropped her once, but you were used to her excitement.

Bucky met your eyes for a moment with a note of appreciation before he turned to her. Then and only then did the corners of his eyes crinkle up in a genuine smile – one directed at your daughter, not at you, one not meant to keep up a charade of nicety like the two of you were wont to do. That was the only type of smile he offered you, and that hurt, too.

“How’s my best girl?” he cooed, peppering her face with noisy kisses.

She giggled and half-heartedly tried to push him away. “Daddy, no! It’s scratchy!” 

At that, he just rubbed his stubbly cheek against hers some more, lightly, not enough to hurt, and she squealed. He slid his hands under her arms with ease before he lifted her up and away from you, and although you knew he wasn’t being malicious, you always hated giving her up.

She just slung her tiny arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. It had been awhile since she’d seen him – probably about two months, now, and you didn’t blame her. You’d missed him, too.

“How was the drive?” he asked you, holding Winnie against his side as the three of you made your way inside. With his free hand, he held open the glass door for you.

“It was a whole twelve minutes,” you responded dryly, more joking than not. Twelve minutes was much better than the nearly three-hour commute from when he was living in the city; not that you had to make it very often, as it was usually his responsibility. “Not too bad. Thanks.”

You weren’t really sure what you were thanking him for. The door, maybe.

Bucky paused to study your face for a moment, hesitant, before he quickly lifted Winnie up onto his shoulders, adorable peals of laughter escaping her. The ceilings were tall enough to offer plenty of leeway, and she’d always enjoyed being able to see things from such a high vantage point, especially someplace new like this. 

“I bet Auntie Nat will be so happy to see you, sweetpea,” you told her, more to fill the silence than anything else. Bucky sure looked like he wanted to say something to you. He had that same reluctant expression on his face, the very one that creased his brows and made your anxiety skyrocket. 

Thankfully, he seemed to understand that you weren’t willing to discuss whatever it was yet, and instead chimed in, “She’s waiting for us upstairs, princess. Do you wanna go see her?”

“Yeah!” Winnie sounded incredibly chipper as she gripped two handfuls of Bucky’s hair in her small fists, almost like the reigns to a horse. “Let’s go!”

You stifled a laugh as she half-directed him where to go. The stairs were steeper than you anticipated, and by the time you reached the next floor, you were well and truly winded. The second flight was even worse; they were both already at the top by the time you got halfway there, because Bucky took them two or three at a time.

“Come on, Mommy!” Winnie cheered. 

“I’m coming, baby,” you called out, holding onto the handrail for dear life. That wasn’t an exaggeration.

One step, two, then three and you finally made it there. It wasn’t that you were out of shape, exactly – except, well, you were. You’d never completely lost the extra weight that came along with having a child, and you definitely didn’t have the time to work out with all of your other responsibilities as much as you would have liked to.

Bucky’s eyes were soft on yours when you glanced over at him, to which you huffed and quickly looked away. Knowing he’d seen how out of shape you were was embarrassing enough.

“Where’s Auntie Nat?” Winnie asked, then, and you were never more grateful to her for it.

“She’s making lunch for us,” Bucky told her, gently placing a hand on your lower back to guide you in the right direction. When you froze up at the unexpected contact, he immediately pulled it away, like he’d only just realized what he’d done.

If your heart wasn’t already racing, it certainly would have been after that.

“How’s that sound, Win? Are you hungry?” you asked as the three of you walked into the large kitchen and living area. The open floor plan was full of expensive things you’d only ever dreamt of, no doubt courtesy of Tony.

“Yeah!” she responded happily, which soon became an excited shriek when she spotted Natasha spreading peanut butter onto a few slices of bread. On the marble countertop in front of her was also a jar of strawberry jam, Winnie’s favourite.

“Hi Winnie,” Natasha greeted. “Guess what I’m making?”

“Peanut butter jellies!” Winnie exclaimed, wiggling a little, clearly ready to get off of Bucky’s shoulders to properly say hi to Natasha. Predictably, he plopped her onto the floor with ease, and she did just that. The sound of her scampering across the unfamiliar tile brought a smile to your face. It almost sounded like home.

Natasha kept her entertained while you and Bucky watched in tense, uncomfortable silence. If nothing else, you were glad that Winnie was able to spend some time with her two favourite people. You, of course, weren’t one of them. You weren’t the fun parent. Bucky was.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said, then, softly enough that Winnie couldn’t hear.

You didn’t look at him, instead focusing on what was on the other side of the room: the two black leather sofas surrounding a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall, with a lavish coffee table in front. All you noticed were the sharp corners and invisible price tags. You weren’t broke, exactly, but all of this was much nicer than you could afford.

“Don’t be,” you replied with a shrug. “She’d be over the moon if we had such a big TV at home.”

“I’m happy to give you more,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. “Why am I not surprised you’re still driving that car?”

At that, you shot him a look that clearly conveyed your displeasure, to which he met your eyes in challenge.

You didn’t want more money from him. You only accepted the bare minimum of child support because it was court-ordered, and even that was a blow to your pride. You and Winnie were managing just fine without the ridiculous sum of money that Bucky made whilst working with the Avengers.

“It still runs. Why would I get rid of it?”

“It’s not as safe as the newer models,” Bucky responded far too evenly for your liking. “You know that. Are you really going to let your pride get in the way of our daughter’s safety?”

“She’s _fine_,” you hissed. “Are you really going to do this _right now_?”

“Mommy? What’s wrong?” came your sweet little girl’s voice, then, and your bristly demeanour disappeared in an instant. You always did your best not to argue with Bucky in front of her, but every now and then he just had to push your buttons. This was one of those times.

“Nothing, honey,” you said with faux cheerfulness, walking over to the counter where she was now seated, jam smeared all over her cheeks and chin. “Mommy’s just hungry, that’s all. Can I please have a bite?”

Winnie just beamed and held out one half of her sandwich to you. That was when you noticed that Natasha had lovingly cut it into triangles, just as she always did, and your smile suddenly felt more real than it had in days.

After you took a bite, you brushed Winnie’s soft brown locks away from her forehead and left a kiss there. “Thank you. Now be a good girl for Auntie Nat, okay? Mommy and Daddy will be back soon.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she said so sweetly, you couldn’t help but give her another kiss. Then you shared a warning look with Natasha – almost as if to say _keep her out of this _– before you walked back over to Bucky. 

Together, the two of you went back out into the hallway to finish the argument he started. You were already ready to rip his head off after his unexpected visit-slash-threat earlier in the week, not to mention the snide comment he’d just made about your ability to parent.

The moment the door shut behind you, you were in full attack mode, zero to sixty in no time whatsoever. “Damn it, how many times do I have to tell you not to pick a fight in front of her?”

“Well, maybe if you were more reasonable—”

“More reasonable? Maybe if _you_ made an effort to actually _show up_ every once in a while—”

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do here, sweetheart? She’s three and I’ve barely seen her!”

“And whose fault is that?” you spat, jabbing your finger into his chest for emphasis, “_You’re_ the one who’s always working, Bucky! You know how excited she gets, and whenever you let her down, I’m the one who has to try and make her feel better! _I’m_ the one making promises _you_ can’t keep!”

Bucky exhaled slowly, then, in a clear attempt to calm down. The two of you never used to fight like this, but ever since you moved away, things had been beyond tense and you’d long since been forced to recognize when he really was trying to control his temper. 

Of course, things weren’t always so bad. There were days where both of you were at least somewhat amicable towards each other, maybe even friendly. In fact, this one seemed like it might have been heading in that direction – in the beginning, at least.

Then he finally spoke again, tone clipped, “Let me show you her room.”

Yeah, like seeing whatever he had in store would suddenly make you forget the last three years.

“Fine.”

Bucky led the way down a winding corridor on the same floor as the communal kitchen. You guessed that each floor probably had its own. The building itself was large and expensive as hell, more than anything you’d ever be able to afford. Just being here almost felt like a privilege.

You hated it. What you hated more was that you _liked_ it. For Winnie, anyway. She deserved the world.

The door to Bucky’s apartment opened with a fingerprint scan, because of course it did. The technology reminded you of your shared suite in the tower once upon a time. 

The apartment wasn’t anything impressive, more of a bachelor pad than anything, but at least it was clean. A grey suede sofa was the focal point, across from another large TV. Boys and their toys, you supposed. At least the coffee table in here had no sharp edges. 

On the other side there was a small kitchenette – big enough for one person, but not necessarily two. Then again, Winnie didn’t eat nearly as much as an adult so that wasn’t really a problem.

Down the hallway, you spotted three doors: one on the left, one on the right, and one at the end. Bathroom, spare room, and his room. At least, that was what you assumed.

You were right.

The second you opened the door to the spare bedroom, your breath hitched in your throat. It wasn’t overly pink or girly like Winnie’s room at home, but you could immediately picture her living here. Not all of the time, because you did still want primary custody, but it was evident that Bucky had put a lot of thought and effort into this. 

There was a twin bed up against one of the walls, with a small guardrail to prevent her from rolling onto the floor – just like at home, where she’d only recently moved into a big girl bed. The sheets were a delicate lavender, and the duvet matched perfectly, white and purple gingham print. At the foot of the bed was a grey fleece blanket, which you absentmindedly brushed your fingers against as you took everything in.

In one of the corners was a small white desk and chair, and on top of it was a stack of children’s books. She hadn’t yet learned how to read, not really, but she loved being read to at bedtime. As you skimmed through the stack, you noticed that a lot of the books were her favourites.

Then you spotted the stuffed animals. 

There were a bunch of them, with tags in an assortment of languages. You didn't even have to look to know that they were from different countries. Bucky must have been saving them for a while. He already knew you had too many at your house as it was; you’d ripped him a new one for it once already, because he liked to bring Winnie one whenever he got back from a mission. You had so many now that they covered her bed, and then some.

He still was picking them up on his missions, it looked like. He just hadn’t given them to her yet.

When you turned back to him, you found him leaning against the doorframe with a hopeful look on his face.

“How long—” Your voice broke, then, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to sound like you weren’t about to cry. It didn’t work. “How long have you been collecting these?”

“Over a year,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he nodded to the room itself. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry in front of him. That didn’t work either.

“Oh, Bucky,” you sniffled. “She’ll love it.”

He hesitantly pushed off the doorframe when he noticed you were upset. “Are you crying?”

“No,” you blubbered, burying your teary face in your hands before he could get a good look.

Bucky wanted to be there for your daughter. At last.

You were beyond touched by all the work that had gone into this, and although you weren’t happy about his unspoken threat of legal action, you could finally see why. He cared about her. He cared about her just as much as you did. He just didn’t show it as well.

The way Bucky wrapped his arms around you was gentle, unsure, but when you leaned into him his hold on you tightened just a little. It had been far too long since you’d been held, for one, and for two, _god_ it felt good to be held by him. You’d forgotten what it felt like to be in his arms. 

You’d missed it – missed _him_.

That might have been why you finally managed to swallow your pride and ask, muffled and teary, “What car has the best safety features?”

When he pulled away just enough to look at you, he gave you a smile, the same kind where his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

It was genuine.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky held you only until your tears subsided, and no longer.

There were clear boundaries between the two of you that would never be crossed again. The break-up was already hard enough with a months-long custody battle, so afterwards, once the two of you somehow managed to get along for the sake of your daughter – kind of – you sat down together and agreed in no uncertain terms that your relationship was well and truly over. Neither of you wanted to hurt Winnie by trying to rekindle something that wasn’t going to work.

That might have been the most difficult conversation you ever had, because even after everything, you still wanted to be with him. It just hurt too much, knowing how many milestones he’d missed during Winnie’s infancy; not to mention he wasn’t there to support you when you needed him most.

Bucky was only comforting you as the mother of his child. Nothing more. You knew that, but you desperately wished it _was_ something more. Not only had he hurt you, but Winnie, too – and here you were two years later, still pining after him like a fool in love. Even now, some part of you was so caught up in the dream, the ideal, where the three of you might be a happy family one day – a _normal_ family – and you always found yourself wanting more. More than he was willing to give.

He was bad for you. He was bad for Winnie.

You missed him anyway.

That may have been why you never tried to date again. You liked to blame it on the fact that you were too busy, but that was a lie. The proof was in the way your heart raced when he held you so close; the way your thoughts went haywire when he stroked your hair so soothingly; the way a rush of heat went straight to your core when you breathed in his familiar scent, spice and cedar and something so distinctly him that it drove you crazy.

By the time you got back to the kitchen, you weren’t a blubbering mess anymore. Instead, you were a nervous wreck, and that was _much _worse.

Your little girl was sitting comfortably on Natasha’s lap whilst the two of them chatted animatedly about some cartoon on Netflix. You didn’t recognize it, but then again, it had been a couple of years since you’d last used Netflix. After you moved away, you stopped using Bucky’s account out of respect for him, but you never got your own because the monthly fee could cover Winnie’s lunches for two weeks and you could pirate shows for free.

Of course, if you were really going to let Bucky buy you a car – a _car_, for fuck’s sake – then Netflix was chump change in comparison.

“Winnie, baby,” you said cheerfully, plopping down on the sofa next to Natasha, “How would you like to stay here with Daddy for the weekend?”

Winnie’s big blue eyes went wide as saucers, and you couldn’t help but be reminded of Bucky. The older she got, the more looked like him. “I can stay with Daddy?”

“You’re a big girl now,” you reminded her, using your thumb to wipe away some stray crumbs from her chin. “It’s up to you, sweetpea.” 

She blinked a few times – confused, but no less excited. “I wanna stay! Can I stay, Daddy? Please?”

Bucky just laughed and squatted down in front of her to ruffle her hair. “Of course you can. Wanna see your room, princess?”

At that, she quickly scrambled off of Natasha’s lap and bounced on the balls of her feet, nodding vigorously. Even at full height, she was still tiny in comparison to Bucky’s crouching form and you couldn’t help but laugh a little – especially when he held out his large hand to her and she took it without hesitation.

“Ah, ah,” you chided. “What do you say to Auntie Nat?”

Winnie beamed at Natasha and offered a rehearsed, “Thank you for lunch, Auntie Nat!”

Natasha smiled back at her. “You’re welcome, Winnie.”

As Bucky led her from the room, your worries started to pool in the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t ever spent a full night away from her, and neither had she from you. You were afraid to let her go – quite possibly more for yourself than for her. Not that you were leaving yet, but the anxiety crept in anyway.

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Natasha teased, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s just one night. Baby steps.”

She’d always been able to read you like a book. You and Natasha had been friends since you first started seeing Bucky, and although that relationship was over, you kept in touch with her all the same. It was a shame that Winnie didn’t get to see her very often, because she _was_ Winnie’s godmother and you knew she cared about your daughter just as much as you did.

She’d be safe here. You were sure of it.

“Yeah,” you echoed, despite your worries. “It’ll be fine.”

* * *

It was very much _not_ fine.

As thrilled as Winnie was about her new room, and that she’d be staying with Bucky overnight, she absolutely _did not_ like that you were leaving. It wasn’t until you started to say your goodbyes in the foyer that she finally put two and two together and threw a temper tantrum.

“Come on, baby,” you said exasperatedly, wincing as her little fingernails dug into the thin material of your leggings. You’d definitely find some tiny claw marks there later.

She clung to your leg even tighter and whined, “No! Stay!”

“No, Winnie, Daddy wants to spend some time with you,” you told her gently, kneeling down in front of her to talk to her face-to-face. “He’s missed you lots!”

She pouted and threw her arms around your neck, burying her teary, snotty face in your shoulder – no doubt ruining your shirt, but you were entirely too used to the mess by now. “You can’t go! Not without Winnie!”

You sighed and stroked her back, looking up at Bucky apologetically. She was normally much more well-behaved than this, but you should have expected that she’d have a meltdown. She hadn’t yet spent a night without you, but she’d spent plenty without him. It was unfamiliar.

That said, the casual shrug he offered you took you by surprise. It didn’t seem to bother him that she was so dependent on you. Rather, there was a certain softness in those gorgeous blue eyes of his that made your heart skip a beat.

“Winnie,” you reprimanded gently, “Aren’t you excited for your new room? Think of all those stuffed animals needing cuddles! Daddy will even read you your favourite bedtime story, won’t he?”

“That’s right, princess,” Bucky chimed in, crouching down next to the two of you. “I’ll even tuck you in with Mr. Squiggles.”

You and Bucky had already discussed that you’d be back shortly with some of Winnie’s things – namely a couple changes of clothes and her dear old Mr. Squiggles, the stuffed unicorn she’d had since birth. She wouldn’t sleep without him. Of course, because saying goodbye had become such an ordeal, you’d probably have to ask Natasha to play courier.

Winnie slowly pulled back just enough to look between you and Bucky, like she was trying to decide. The stuffed animals were a huge selling point, for sure, but you could tell that Mr. Squiggles was what finally sold her on the idea.

“Promise?” she finally asked, lower lip wobbling.

Bucky held out his pinky to her. “Promise.”

She linked hers with his and smiled back, sniffling. You used a tissue to wipe away her tears and got back to your feet, stooping to collect your purse. Then, as you slung your purse over your shoulder, Bucky hoisted Winnie up into his arms.

When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and timid, a stark contrast to her earlier behaviour. “Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetpea?”

“Love you,” she said, making grabby hands for you. This time, she wanted a hug.

Well, now you wanted to cry, too.

“Mommy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world,” you told her, voice breaking just a little before you gave her small body a gentle squeeze. Then you quickly pulled back and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” she said happily, waving along with Bucky as you made your way out the double glass doors. You waved back and blew her kisses until you reached the steps, where you finally turned around despite how hard it was to leave her behind.

Somehow, you managed not to cry until you made it to your car.

* * *

It was your first Saturday night alone in two years, and you were wasting it. Not that you cared.

You worried your lower lip in between your teeth, staring blankly at your cell phone. On the screen was a long chain of text messages with Bucky: your primary means of communication, short and succinct. It was easier not to get into an argument that way.

He’d sent through his Netflix info a couple hours ago, because Winnie really seemed to enjoy the cartoon she was watching and she wanted to continue it after she got home with you. You didn’t ask for it, and while normally you’d have been offended, you were entering a new phase of your – well, relationship, if you could even call it that. Your co-parenting relationship. So you thanked him, like a grown-up.

Kind of hard not to turn over a new leaf when your ex planned to take you car shopping.

As if on cue, you received another text from him. This one was entirely unprovoked.

** _Bucky, 8:32pm  
_ ** _I know you’re worrying, but we’re doing just fine over here. See?_

Attached was a selfie of him and Winnie laying together on her new bed, with matching cheshire grins on their faces. In her arms was Mr. Squiggles, while in Bucky’s free hand – the vibranium one – was her favourite bedtime book.

Right. It was eight-thirty, now. Winnie’s bedtime.

She was going to bed without you.

The harmless chewing of your lower lip turned to incessant gnawing, and with it came a set of fingernails bitten down to the quick. Of _course_ you were worried. You wouldn’t be able to check on her in the middle of the night to make sure she was still doing okay. You wouldn’t be able to watch her sleep. She wasn’t here with you like she usually was.

Then your phone dinged with another text.

** _Bucky, 8:36pm  
_ ** _You aren’t biting your nails, are you?_

That made you frown. You weren’t together all that long, but somehow, he knew you like the back of his own hand. Metal or flesh, it didn’t matter, because he was entirely too observant either way.

You typed out a quick response and hit send, before you tossed your phone down on the couch, having every intention of ignoring it for the rest of the night.

** _You, 8:37pm_ ** _  
No._

In an attempt to distract yourself, you finally logged into Bucky’s Netflix account, only to freeze up at what you saw. He still had three profiles set up: one for each of you. Apparently, he’d never deleted yours or Winnie’s from the time you were together.

Why?

It was kind of nostalgic to go through your profile. The same movies and TV shows were saved in your ‘to watch’ list that you’d never gotten around to seeing, even two years after the fact. Not that it mattered. All you wanted to know was why he’d kept it. Maybe he didn’t use it much anymore.

Feeling nosy, you switched profiles and slowly made your way through his. No, he definitely still used it regularly. Instead of the action movies you expected to see in his history, however, there were mostly documentaries, the occasional rom-com, and even a couple of TV shows you’d recommended to him once. That surprised you. Then again, you knew that binging on content took his mind off of the things he didn’t want to think about. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

His response to your text was delayed, likely because he was reading Winnie to sleep – but the second your phone dinged again, you were all over it like a lovesick teenager.

** _Bucky, 8:55pm  
_ ** _It’s not good to lie, sweetheart._

At that, you rolled your eyes. No matter how many times you told him not to call you that, he still did. Secretly, you loved it, but at the same time it was a harsh reminder that you weren’t his sweetheart anymore. Not really. You were the mother of his child. That was all.

_ **You, 8:56pm  
** _ _Who says I’m lying? And don’t call me that._

_ **Bucky, 8:56pm  
** _ _Me. And I like calling you that._

With a huff, you fired back an annoyed response.

_ **You, 8:57pm  
** _ _Goodnight, Bucky._

His little chat bubble popped up again almost instantly, the one that let you know he was typing a response, but it just sat there for a minute or two unchanged. Just when you gave up and set your phone back down, it dinged again.

_ **Bucky, 8:59pm  
** _ _See you tomorrow._


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky exhaled slowly and ran his hand through his hair, peering down at the small body nestled into his side. 

His daughter. His little girl.

Somehow, he’d managed to do something good for once in his miserable life. It was quite possibly the _only _good thing he’d ever done. She was everything right in the world, so sweet and loving and absolutely perfect. 

No thanks to him, of course.

He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve you.

Even after Winnie fell asleep, he stayed with her for a little while – took comfort in the fact that she was there with him. She was _there_, tucked into the set of crisp lavender sheets he’d bought just for her. On her other side was the stuffed unicorn he’d bought for her, too – the very first thing he ever bought for her, before she was even born. 

Having her there with him was small win to be sure, but it certainly didn’t feel like one. Instead, he felt worse than ever before. He’d taken her away from her mother, coerced you into letting her back into his life.

Desperate. Lonely. Deplorable.

Bucky was all of the above.

He’d seen how dependent she was on you, and of course she was. She barely knew him. You were her mother, her lifeline, her everything. He was nothing in comparison. Even so, Winnie still acted like he was the best father in the world. He didn’t know why, because he definitely wasn’t. 

What’s worse was that every time he tried to strike up a conversation with you, it ended badly. Every single time, and it was all his fault. Ever since you left, he’d been genuinely concerned for your safety and Winnie’s in that god-awful beater you drove around – but whenever he pointed it out to you, you always took offense.

Especially after the accident.

It was a fender bender, you stressed over and over again. Nothing to worry about.

Except he _did_ worry. That was the problem. He didn’t have the right to, not anymore.

And now, once again, you shut down a conversation with him before it could ever really start – as if to make a point that you were done with him. Even though you’d given him an inch today, he always wanted to take a mile. He knew that was why you kept your guard up around him.

Except for today.

Today, you let him hold you for the first time in a long, long while. He could still faintly smell the sweet scent of your perfume on his henley, could still feel how soft and warm you were in his arms. You were softer than before. 

He hated knowing that the last couple of years hadn’t been kind to you. You were overstressed, underpaid, struggling but you never let it show. At least, not intentionally. The dark circles under your eyes told a different story, not to mention the faint worry lines that he’d started to notice on your forehead a few months back.

His fault.

Of course, all he saw when he looked at you was _you_. Not your imperfections, no matter how embarrassed you were by them. To him, you were beautiful. Always had been. Always would be.

_I miss you so much._

He stared blankly at the unsent text message on his screen. It was selfish. He knew that, just as much as he knew you didn’t miss him. Why would you? He’d left you alone, abandoned you when you needed him most. You and Winnie. His girls.

Not anymore, you weren’t.

With an irritated sigh, he deleted it and typed out another one.

_Can I call you?_

But he already knew the answer. Why the hell would you want to talk to him? He couldn’t think of a single reason you’d answer a phone call from him unless it had to do with Winnie. You rarely talked over the phone as it was – kept things short and sweet via text because you didn’t want to deal with him more than necessary.

Didn’t take him long to erase that one, too.

What he settled on was quick and easy. Casual. Like he wasn’t always thinking about you. Like he wasn’t always missing you. Like he wasn’t still desperately in love with you.

_**Bucky, 8:59pm  
**__See you tomorrow._


	4. Chapter 4

To say you slept terribly was an understatement.

You were too nervous, too keyed up to sleep. Not only were you worried about Winnie, but the prospect of car shopping with Bucky was an additional stressor. Why had you even agreed to it in the first place? Yours was just fine. A beater, sure, but it still ran. Kind of.

Deep down, you couldn’t help but appreciate that he cared about Winnie’s safety. You just didn’t like the nagging. He’d been on your case for the last few months about your car, ever since you got into an accident on the way home from the grocery store. A fender bender, nothing serious. It wasn’t even bad enough to warrant repairs – just a few dents and scratches on your rear bumper. The other driver gave you a couple hundred bucks for damages, which you used on birthday presents for your little girl.

That said, you weren’t poor, just frugal.

Most of Bucky’s child support – a couple thousand dollars a month – went straight into savings for Winnie’s college fund. The rest was used on doctor’s appointments and medicine. Despite the fact that she also had the serum in her veins, she still got sick like a normal child. Between croup and colds and ear infections, you’d dealt with it all; even her asthma, unpredictable as it was. It flared up at the strangest times, not from overexertion or allergies like one might expect, but randomly and you hadn’t yet figured out the cause. Neither had her doctor, let alone Bruce for that matter.

Of course, the serum did affect her some. She grew slightly faster than her peers; although she was a little over three years old, now, physically she was more like four. Then again, that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, as your pregnancy only lasted eight months instead of nine. Technically she was a preemie but she certainly didn’t seem like one, having been born at a standard six pounds, five ounces.

Standard. Normal.

When she ran, it was at a normal speed too, and she definitely couldn’t lift anything heavy. She had a tendency to trip and fall flat on her face, so her reflexes weren’t exactly enhanced like Bucky’s, either, though her skinned knees did seem to heal faster than the norm.

To you, Winnie was a normal little girl through and through. She played with dolls and stuffed animals, drew with crayons and markers, and had temper tantrums on a regular basis. She liked to dress like a princess, watch Disney movies, be tucked in and read to. She even snuck into your bed at night when she had a nightmare.

She _was_ normal. Mostly.

The fact that her Mommy and Daddy were separated made her a target in preschool, and you hated it. Her friends often babbled about their parents, plural, whereas Winnie usually only got to talk about you. You knew how much it bothered her. 

It bothered you, too.

* * *

Morning came before you knew it, and you were anything but bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. By the time you left for the compound, it was a little after nine and you’d already downed about a gallon of coffee. Even though you’d been a barista for almost a decade, you never really used to drink coffee much until you had Winnie. Then, all of a sudden, you completely understood why it was so popular.

There were no hassles at the gate this time. Bucky’s name held enough sway that you didn’t have to repeat yourself after yesterday. You kind of liked it – always had, if you were being honest. Not that you’d ever admit it. Especially not to yourself.

Yawning, you made your way up the handful of steps and through the glass doors. You’d texted Bucky right before you left and although he wasn’t there to greet you this time, you vaguely remembered where to go. At least you could take the steps more slowly this time, now that you weren’t being watched.

The compound was incredibly quiet for a Sunday morning in comparison to the tower. There was never a dull moment there, but here, even with all the buildings, it wasn’t noisy at all. Instead it was tranquil – relaxing, almost. You could even hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside as you knocked on Bucky’s door.

On the other side, you picked up the deep rumble of his voice. It wasn’t quite loud enough to make out, but you could easily assume what he’d said when Winnie asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s Mommy,” you answered cheerfully.

You heard her squeal, and then she relayed the information like Bucky had no doubt asked her to do. “Mommy’s here! Can I open it now?”

He spoke again – louder, this time, closer to the door. “Sure, princess.”

There were a couple seconds while she fumbled with the handle; she was barely tall enough to reach it at home, and this one was the same. Bucky might have tried to help, you weren’t sure, but soon enough the door was pulled open and a little brunette blur promptly attached itself to your leg.

“Mommy!” Winnie said happily, peering up at you with her big blue eyes. “You’re back!”

“Of course I am, sweetpea! Did you miss me?” you asked with a smile.

While normally you would have ruffled her hair, you noticed that she had two braids on either side of her head, secured by tiny pink elastics you didn’t recognize. They were very cute, but who’d done them up for her? Natasha? You were sure that none of the boys knew how to French braid. Why would they?

That particular thought made you wonder if there was something going on between her and Bucky. She was here yesterday, too. She’d tell you if there was, though, wouldn’t she?

“I missed you lots, Mommy,” Winnie told you, letting go of you to hold her arms up in the air. She wanted to be picked up.

You, of course, hoisted her up with ease and propped her against your hip, holding her little body just a smidge closer than yesterday – not tight enough to hurt, but you were ecstatic to have her in your arms again. “I missed you lots, too, baby.”

Then you finally looked over at Bucky and found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. The way his tight black t-shirt strained over his biceps made you feel a little hot under the collar, but what really caught you off guard was how his lips were just slightly curled up at the corners, like he was trying not to smile.

You made a joke in an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that he was always too damn attractive for his own good. “So can I come in? Or do I have cooties?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, then, blinking like hadn’t really thought of it – and then he stepped aside to allow you entry. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“If anyone has cooties, it’s Daddy,” Winnie made a point of saying. “He’s a boy.”

You let out an undignified snort as you crossed the threshold. “Is that right?”

“Yeah! Boys are yuck.”

“Boys are yuck, huh,” Bucky remarked, closing the door behind you with a soft _click. _Then he muttered under his breath, “Sure hope it stays that way.”

That comment coupled with the suddenly wary look on his face made you laugh outright. Bucky hadn’t made you laugh in a long time; you were too busy arguing with him to do much else. “Isn’t it a little early to be worrying about that?”

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “you’ve already got her college fund set up. Don’t talk to me about ‘too early’.”

You huffed, but it was in jest. “That’s different.”

“Yeah?” At that, he offered you a roguish grin that made your heart skip a beat. “How’s it different?”

Now, it wasn’t witty banter, per se, but something was different for sure. The dynamic had shifted between the two of you, somewhere between the time you told him goodnight and your mid-morning arrival. It was a small change, but you could feel it in the air: a distinct lack of tension.

Unfortunately, it also made an indignant flush come across your cheeks. He was teasing you. He hadn’t done that in a long time, either.

“It just _is_,” you responded unhelpfully, setting Winnie down on the sofa before you sat down next to her. You purposely kept your back facing him to conceal the fact that you were blushing like an idiot and you didn’t even know why.

No, that was a lie. You did know why.

This felt entirely too familiar.

Thankfully, Bucky seemed to pick up on your change of tone and let it go in favour of asking, “Have you eaten? We only got up a few minutes ago.”

By ‘we’ you assumed he meant Winnie, because he never used to sleep well. Nightmares usually kept him awake, and while you knew he wasn’t a morning person, he got up at the crack of dawn anyway. Bucky told you once that he liked to watch the sun rise. The peace and quiet helped him think.

“Not yet,” you answered, fussing with the wrinkled collar of Winnie’s dress. Another distraction. You’d dropped off a few different outfits for her in an overnight bag last night, along with her inhaler, some toiletries, and of course Mr. Squiggles. Now she was dressed in her Sunday best, but in all actuality, she probably just wanted to wear a pretty dress.

“Daddy said he wanted to make Mommy's favourite pancakes!” Winnie piped up, and you instinctively tensed at the admission.

That’s right. It was Sunday.

Bucky awkwardly cleared his throat, but made no attempt to correct her.

There was a brief pause – stunned silence – until you regained your bearings enough to ask, “Did he, now?”

“Uh huh!” Winnie told you, nodding excitedly. “Blueberry!”

Your brows rose as you turned to him. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Why do you think I used to make them?”

Your heart instantly warmed at his admission – and ached, because of the memories. He was on missions more often than not when the two of you were together, but without fail, whenever he was home on a Sunday, he made blueberry pancakes. His Ma’s recipe, he said.

They were the best pancakes you’d ever eaten.

“Well,” you began nervously, “it _is_ Sunday.”

He met your eyes, then – gentle, warm. Just like how he used to look at you.

“Daddy,” Winnie whined. “I’m hungry!”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you chimed in, feeling a little lighter than before. “I’m hungry, too.”

Bucky grumbled an easy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he got to work, but his tone didn’t match the amused expression on his face. You didn’t fail to notice the light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

That was when Winnie started to tell you about the show she was watching on Netflix, the same cartoon you’d glimpsed yesterday. You were interested in what she had to say, of course you were, but not as much as you normally would have been because her father looked so fucking good right now.

He’d remembered. As innocent as that was, your body’s reaction to it absolutely wasn’t. Call it Pavlovian conditioning, but the first time he made those pancakes for you was the morning after you first slept together. That was the same night Winnie was conceived. 

When Bucky pulled out a frying pan from one of the cabinets and set it on the lit stove, you couldn’t help but notice how his t-shirt stretched over his muscles underneath, not to mention those sweatpants which did nothing to conceal his fantastic ass.

You’d already seen and sampled what he had to offer, but hell if you didn’t want to have another taste anyway. Not that you ever would.

He started to lay out all of the ingredients on the counter, including a punnet of fresh blueberries but you were more focused on the way he worked with such finesse, like making breakfast for the three of you was a normal, everyday thing for him to do.

It was, once.

Then, as Bucky mixed everything together in a large bowl, he finally glanced up only to catch you staring.

_Shit._

You immediately tore your eyes away, heart pounding a frenzied tattoo within the confines of your chest and you didn’t look back again. Instead, you feigned interest in the show Winnie was babbling on about, squeezing your thighs together to alleviate the sudden ache in between.

You needed to _stop_.

He wasn’t good for you. He wasn’t good for Winnie.

Right?

But your thoughts just kept drifting back to him anyway. You couldn’t help it. It was during times like these that your memories got the best of you, because you knew he was more than capable of being a good father if he wanted to be. You’d seen it not only while you were pregnant, but during the first couple of months after Winnie was born.

What’s worse was that Bucky was capable of so much more, too. He could be downright wonderful. A good boyfriend. A supportive partner. An attentive lover. He was all of those for you once upon a time.

It wasn’t until the pancakes were done and you finally met his eyes again from across the kitchen table that you knew you were in too deep. You’d never gotten over him, not really – and being here with him and your daughter, so sweet and domestic for the first time in years, was what made you finally realize that.

You still wanted to be with him. 

You wanted to be a family.


	5. Chapter 5

After breakfast, Bucky went to change into a pair of jeans for your ‘family outing,’ as it were. Car shopping, just as promised. Why the prospect of that made you so nervous, you weren’t sure, but you had to tell yourself that you were doing this for Winnie and Winnie only. Not for you. As nice as it might have been to spend time with Bucky, and not to have him nagging you about your old car – your daughter was more important.

Anxiously tapping your nails (or at least what was left of them) against the kitchen counter, you waited for the sink to fill. He’d made breakfast, so you thought it would be good to do the dishes as a thank you. And, well, that was how the two of you used to split those chores when you and Bucky were still living together. Whoever didn’t cook did the dishes. That was the norm.

You didn’t notice until the sink was full and you were scrubbing away that you’d already fallen back into an old routine. In an instant, you froze.

What were you doing?

Playing pretend. Like everything was peachy keen, and the last three years were a fluke. Like he hadn’t broken too many promises to count.

That was what you were doing.

You were acting like the fool you’d always been for him. Hell, you’d already fallen back into the same stupid routine. Would you fall back into bed with him, too? Lord knows you wanted to, and that made you feel even worse.

How stupid could you be?

With a huff, you did a quick scan of the living room and found Winnie happily absorbed in the same cartoon she’d been watching yesterday. Bucky must have put it on for her before he went to change. She looked so sweet and innocent – happy – yet here you were, thinking about a pipe dream that would just hurt her.

There was no way this was going to end without her getting hurt, let alone you.

“You okay?”

At the sudden sound of Bucky’s voice, you jumped and dropped the plate in your hands into the sink with a loud _splash_.

“I’m fine,” you replied, tone short, refusing to look at him in favour of washing the plate. Your movements with the sponge were brisk, almost like you’d be able to just scrub away your worries. No dice. The leftover syrup may have come off, but your thoughts were still a mess.

There was a brief pause where you felt Bucky’s eyes on you, studying you, trying to figure you out. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that something was wrong. These days it was like your mood changed at the drop of a hat; you were entirely too on edge around him, and for good reason.

You didn’t want to get hurt.

That was when he placed his hand on your shoulder – kind, familiar. The warmth from it seeped through your blouse, and the way he spoke to you was so incredibly gentle that it made you wish for a brief moment that things were back to how they used to be. It was so much easier to argue with him than it was to feel like _this._ “What is it, sweetheart?”

You let the plate go and rest your hands on the counter in front of you, letting out a shaky breath. “Nothing. I’m _fine_.”

His hand slowly moved from your shoulder to the middle of your back, before he asked softly, “Then why are you crying?”

What?

The tears blurring your vision were unmistakable. You never used to cry so easily. Why now?

“Just got something in my eye,” was the flimsy excuse you gave him, an obvious lie. After you wiped your hands on a dish towel, you finally turned to face him; there wasn’t really any other option, because it was the only way out of the kitchenette and you needed to get away from him, from this.

He was too close. He always got too close.

Once upon a time, you would have loved that. Not now.

Bucky’s eyes were the softest blue on yours, and although you could tell he didn’t believe you, he didn’t press further. Instead, he hesitantly pulled his hand away and stepped aside, offering you a sympathetic smile. “Go get it, then. I’ll finish these.”

He knew, but he chose not to say anything. That was even worse than being called out on your lie. You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anything from him. 

Except you did. That was the problem.

You brushed past him without a word, somehow keeping your head held high and your pace steady as the tears rolled down your cheeks – but right before you shut the bathroom door, a sob escaped you, one loud enough that he definitely would have heard it even without his enhanced hearing.

God, you were an idiot.

Why were you letting him back in? He didn’t deserve it after everything he’d put you and Winnie through. He’d abandoned you both when you needed him, and now, two years later, he wanted to be involved again – now that it was convenient for _him_.

Not for you.

No, your entire life was being flipped upside down, and you had no say in any of it. After all, the whole reason you’d brought your daughter here was because he’d strongarmed you under threat of legal action. It wasn’t because he cared. No, it was a power play, and his offer to buy a car for the two of you was just another one. You’d be so indebted to him that you wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’. And then he’d take and take all over again.

The water ran ice cold from the faucet, jarring you from your racing thoughts. In the mirror, you looked like hell: red-rimmed eyes, flushed nose, blotchy complexion. You quickly washed away your tears and blotted at your face with a hand towel, trying and failing to ignore the nostalgic scent of his fabric softener. You had to stop buying that particular brand after you left.

He couldn’t do this to you and Winnie again. He couldn’t.

You wouldn’t let him – and you were out of the bathroom before you knew it.

“Winnie,” you called out, voice rough from crying which quickly drew her attention from the TV to you. Immediately, those big blue eyes of hers were wide in alarm, but before she could say anything you instructed, “Get your things. We’re leaving.”

While normally she might have whined or argued, she didn’t this time. Instead she did exactly as she was told – hopped down from the couch and ran to her room to retrieve her belongings.

Then your eyes fixed on Bucky. He was still at the sink, hands covered in suds, staring at you with a mixture of shock and indignation – which, of course, soon gave way to annoyance.

“What the hell did I do this time?”

“Everything,” you bit out, collecting your purse from the coffee table. “This was a mistake. I never should have brought her here.”

“A mistake?” he asked, angrily wiping his hands with the same dish towel you’d discarded on the countertop. “I’m her father!”

“Yeah? Then where the hell have you been?” you snapped. “Because I don’t remember having any help raising her. It was all me.”

Bucky let out an exasperated sigh and dropped the towel back on the counter. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. I had to work.”

“Oh, of course. You had to _work_.” Snorting derisively, you slung your purse over your shoulder. “Who takes her to the doctor, Bucky? Who takes care of her when she’s sick? Buys her meds? Packs her lunches? I do. And guess what? I have to work too, but you don’t see me using that as an excuse—” 

He interrupted you by saying your name in a tone that caught you off guard – harsh, biting. “_You’re_ the one who left.”

If you stayed, you wouldn’t have _had_ to work. His salary was more than enough.

“I’m not a fucking housewife, Bucky!” you hissed. “You think I want to wait around all day for you to come home? Fluff some pillows on the sofa, maybe bake some cookies? This isn’t the 40’s!”

“Trust me, sweetheart, I’m well aware,” he said, voice laced with sarcasm. “And for the record, I never asked you for a damn thing.”

“Yeah, because you were never here,” you bit out, fingers tightly digging into the strap of your purse as you held it on your shoulder. “Why should I be forced to rely on someone who’s never here? Who never wanted to be? Christ, Bucky, maybe if I was with Hydra then you’d actually _listen_ to me for once!”

At those final words, a flash of hurt came across his face, one that instantly let you know how out of hand this argument had gotten – but it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a certain hard edge to his features that made your heart ache.

That was out of line. Way, way out of line.

You knew you should apologize, but as always, your pride got in the way. Bucky had put you through too much, hurt you and your daughter in too many ways. He didn’t deserve an apology. Not when he still had yet to apologize for everything he’d done to you and Winnie.

Right?

“Stop fighting,” came Winnie’s wavering voice from the hallway, then, and your eyes shot to her. She was peeking her head out of her room, chin wobbling like she was about to cry. “Please?”

Oh.

Oh _no_.

“Damn it,” Bucky swore under his breath, not loud enough for her to hear – then, louder, “It’s okay, princess, we’ll stop.” After that, he knelt down and beckoned for her to come over. “Come here. It’s okay.”

The heartbroken expression on her face immediately turned the fire of your hurt, your upset, your anger into an insignificant smoulder. You were a hypocrite; you’d just gotten on Bucky’s case less than a day ago for starting an argument in front of her, and now you’d done it, too.

“Why do you always have to fight?” she asked quietly, fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she approached the two of you.

You swallowed thickly, throat dry. While there were a million answers you could have given her, you couldn’t think of a single one. All you could focus on was how upset you’d made her.

Bucky gently brushed the hair out of her face. “Sometimes Mommy and Daddy don’t agree on things, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love you, Winnie. We love you more than anything.”

“That’s right,” you chimed in, getting to your knees, too. “We love you so, so much, baby.”

“But Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other,” Winnie said with a frown. “How come?”

Plenty of lies came across your mind, but you didn’t want to lie to her – so you decided to tell her the truth. “Mommy does love Daddy. It’s just… complicated.”

Bucky tensed up beside you at the admission. Of course he did. He probably thought you were lying.

“What’s ‘com-pa-cated’?” 

You chewed your lip for a moment, trying to formulate a good answer.

“Do you remember Brandon from preschool?” When she nodded, you added, “You like Brandon a lot, right? But he picks on you sometimes, even though you’re friends. That’s complicated.”

“So Daddy picks on Mommy?” she asked.

You gave her a shrug. “Mommy picks on Daddy, too.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Because we want things we’ll never have from each other,” Bucky told her.

It might have been a jab, but you got the feeling that it wasn’t. Honestly, you had no idea what the hell he meant by that on his side of things, but on yours, it was pretty clear.

“Are we still leaving, Mommy?” Winnie asked with a frown. “I wanna stay.”

“Well,” you began, smoothing her collar down for the umpteenth time – another distraction, “I guess that’s up to Daddy.”

She looked over at him, but you didn’t.

You needed to apologize.

“Yeah, princess, you can stay.” Hesitantly, he brought his hand to the side of your neck, cool vibranium against flushed skin. Your eyes immediately snapped to his. “I’d like you to stay, too. I’ll listen.” Then his hand fell to his side. “If… If you want.”

At that, your heart skipped a beat.

“Okay,” was all you could say. “We’ll stay.”

Just for a few hours.

Just for today.


	6. Chapter 6

The next hour or so went by in a blink.

Bucky finished up the dishes while you and Winnie watched another episode of her show. Now that you actually had a chance to sit down and watch it with her, you understood why she liked it so much. The main character was a queen, and a little female empowerment went a long, long way at her age.

And, well, at any age, really.

Still, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Bucky every now and then after he joined the two of you on the sofa. Some small part of you liked knowing that he was there. It was stupid, sure, but harmless – as long as Winnie didn’t see, and she was far too absorbed in her show to notice an earthquake, even, let alone something so subtle.

Her father, on the other hand, was far more perceptive. After about the fourth or fifth time you looked over at him on the sly (or so you thought), he finally asked, “What?”

There wasn’t malice in his tone, but amusement. 

His sudden question startled you anyway.

With Winnie situated right in between the two of you and his arm resting on the back of the couch behind her, you thanked whatever deity there was for the extra space.

“Nothing, I just…” You started fidgeting with the hem of your blouse, turning back to the TV out of embarrassment. “This is kind of nice.” 

Bucky let out a quiet hum of approval, followed by a soft, “Yeah.”

And it was. It _was_ comfortable.

Too comfortable.

You checked your watch, then, a distraction from your ridiculous thoughts – which was when you realized that you should probably get moving if you were going to go buy a car today. That was the whole reason you were here, after all. Not to spend time with him.

Even though you were _kind of_ enjoying it.

“It’s already after 11,” you told him. “We should probably get going.”

“Oh, yeah.” There it was again; you’d caught him off guard. “Yeah, we should.”

As you pulled yourself to your feet, you turned off the TV and instantly received a half-frown, half-pout from your little girl in response. “Sorry, baby. We’ve got places to be.”

“Is Daddy coming?” Winnie asked, giving you the perfect pair of puppy dog eyes. 

Now _that _was something she’d gotten from her father.

“He sure is!” you replied with a smile. “Won’t that be fun? All three of us going somewhere?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed, beaming.

“Okay, princess, go get your things,” Bucky instructed, and she was off – sprinting to her room for the second time to get her belongings. This time, however, you had a better feeling about it.

Maybe this _could_ work.

Of course, when it was just you and Bucky like this, you got nervous. He was still seated on the sofa, looking up at you with those soft baby blues like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, you held the eye contact for a second longer than necessary, before you stammered out a quick, “Be right back,” and disappeared down the hallway.

For the second time that day, you shut yourself in the bathroom as a means of escape.

Staring blankly at your reflection, you frowned at your appearance. Your skin wasn’t blotchy anymore, at least, but your makeup was definitely smudged from crying earlier and you cursed yourself for not bringing something to touch it up.

Then again, why did you care? This was Bucky_._

But you knew deep down that you only cared _because _it was him.

So you took a few deep breaths, salvaged what you could of your makeup, and then flushed the toilet: another means of keeping up appearances.

* * *

You were in the process of strapping Winnie into her car seat when you caught a glimpse of Steve through the rear window. He must have just returned from a mission, judging by his uniform. 

While you couldn’t hear what he was saying to Bucky, it seemed serious – probably mission-related, or something else you weren’t privy to. Not that it mattered, because as soon as you approached, the tone of the conversation changed entirely.

“Oh, hey!” Steve said with a bright smile, pulling you in for a hug. “Long time, no see.”

God, he was just as heavy as Bucky. Good to see _that _hadn’t changed.

You gave him a quick squeeze around the waist and then took a step back. “Yeah, it’s been way too long, hasn’t it? How have you been?”

He offered you a shrug. “Fighting bad guys, you know, the usual. What about you?”

You snorted. Yeah, that sounded about right. “Still making coffee for those bad guys you’re always fighting.”

Once upon a time, Steve had busted one of them right outside your coffee shop in Manhattan. Judging by the laugh your joke earned you, he definitely seemed to remember.

“Hey, Steve,” you spoke thoughtfully, “You got a couple minutes? Winnie would love to see you before we go.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s eyes lit up, and you didn’t miss the way he glanced at Bucky, almost like he was asking for permission. Bucky just rolled his eyes and shoved him toward your car.

Over the last two years, Steve had seen Winnie even less than Natasha had, and it was a damn shame because he was her godfather. You knew he cared about her, probably just as much as Natasha, but he’d always kept his distance after you ended things with his best friend. Even though you invited him around every now and then, he always said no; only came by with Natasha, and only sometimes. You always got the impression that he didn’t want to step on any toes.

“Oh wow, you’re so big now!” came Steve’s excited voice from the back seat. Somehow, he’d managed to contort his large body to fit in the small space, and you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“Uncle Stevie, you’re all spangly!”

“It’s my job to be spangly,” Steve told her pointedly, and then he started to talk about his mission – little bits and pieces, all good, non-violent things. She’d always liked his stories. 

It was nice to see her so happy like this, chatting animatedly with Steve just like she’d done with Natasha, and you knew she’d love to see the rest of the team, too.

“We’ll have to come around more often,” you found yourself saying, not really considering the implications of it – that you’d have to have a good co-parenting relationship first.

“You know you can come by anytime you want, right?”

Well, no, you didn’t, and Bucky’s suggestion caught you by surprise. You met his eyes for a moment, worrying your bottom lip in between your teeth as you considered it. No, it just didn’t seem right to come to the compound unannounced, for a multitude of reasons – particularly if he wasn’t here to greet you. When you opened your mouth to refuse, however, he just shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter if I’m on a mission, doll. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, brows furrowing. “That would be kind of…”

Awkward. Intrusive. Spiteful, even.

“Weird,” you finished lamely.

“Why?”

“Because they’re your friends.”

Bucky scoffed. “Hardly. Steve wanted to see you just as much as I did. Shoulda heard him.”

Your heart immediately skipped a beat, and you ventured hesitantly, “You wanted to see me?”

Bucky didn’t seem to realize what he’d said until you pointed it out, and he quickly looked away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Even you were able to notice the way his ears turned red. “Well, yeah. ‘course I did.”

What the hell did _that_ mean?

Steve, of course, chose that opportune moment to say his goodbyes to your daughter, and you lost your chance to ask. Not that you had the courage to, anyway.

“I’ve gotta type up some reports,” Steve said, jogging back to the two of you. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? You’re welcome here anytime. Buck’s already sorted it out.”

“Thanks,” you responded unsurely. “See you later?”

Steve nodded, and then he clapped Bucky on the shoulder – the very same Bucky who shot him an irritated look, which Steve promptly ignored in favour of waving goodbye and making his way up the steps.

You grew a little wary at Bucky’s sudden change in demeanour. “What did he mean, you’ve already sorted it out?”

Bucky sighed exasperatedly.

“I had a swipe card made for you,” he explained, clearly annoyed, running a hand through his hair. “For the gate. If… If you want it. You don’t have to take it, I just thought—”

“Okay,” you accepted with a shrug. 

He just stared at you.

“It makes sense for me to have one, right?” Good thing you could think fast on your feet, because otherwise you would have seemed way too eager. “Especially if Winnie’s gonna be here. Right?”

“Right,” he said slowly. “Yeah.”

God, you were an idiot.

Bucky pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and cracked it open; and as he thumbed through it in search of the swipe card, you caught a glimpse of a photo: one of you and Winnie on her first birthday, glittery pink party hats on your heads.

The very same birthday he’d missed.

The very last straw before you left.

“Here,” he said, then, holding out a plain white card to you – plastic, the same size and shape of a credit card. “Just swipe it over the black sensor by the intercom.”

You swallowed thickly and accepted the card with a shaky, “Thanks.”

When your fingertips brushed against his, you nearly dropped the stupid thing – nearly jumped out of your own skin.

Bucky studied your face for a moment, and then, predictably, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

You pushed your feelings aside and shoved the card into your purse.

“Nothing,” you lied, walking around to the driver’s side of your car. “Come on.”

He’d probably only kept that photo because it had Winnie in it. Of course, you’d given him plenty more, so you still weren’t sure why he’d decided to put that particular one in his wallet.

It didn’t matter.

“Okay, but at least let me be a gentleman,” he teased, coming around to your side of the car.

When he opened the car door for you, you gave him what you hoped was a grateful smile before you settled into the weathered, sun-faded seat, thoughts racing just as much as your heartbeat.


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn’t a long drive – just long enough for you to get tongue-tied, but thankfully your radio decided to work today. The music gave a little bit of ambience to the otherwise awkward silence, save for Winnie’s cheerful singing and Bucky’s helpful directions.

The closer and closer you got to the car dealership, however, the more worried you became.

He wasn’t taking you _there_, was he?

He wouldn’t.

No, he was.

_Fuck_.

“Bucky,” you said in exasperation, pulling into one of the parking spots outside of the dealership. “A Land Rover is _way_ too much money.”

“Safety features, sweetheart,” he reminded you as he opened the car door, and then he climbed out of your small car – something you might have found hilarious if not for the matter at hand. “Come on. It’s not gonna buy itself.”

Then he shut the door, leaving no room for argument.

Ever the drama queen, you groaned and slowly got out while Bucky deftly unbuckled Winnie from her car seat. God, this was a mistake. You were scared to even _look_ at the price tag, let alone touch any of the display models for fear of scratching them or breaking them, or – something. Why did you let him talk you into this?

Bucky’s brows rose in amusement as he popped your daughter up on his shoulders, and he asked her, “Princess, you don’t bite your nails like Mommy, do you?”

That was when you realized your fingertip was in your mouth, and you quickly yanked it out. 

Winnie shook her head. “Nope! Mommy says it’s a nasty habit.”

“A nasty habit, huh?” he remarked, giving you a roguish grin – the very one that made you fall for him to begin with – as the three of you started to walk through the car yard. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far.”

“It _is_ a nasty habit,” you protested, before you looked up at Winnie. “Don’t bite your nails, honey. Daddy’s a bad influence.”

Winnie nodded, but she gave you that same stupid grin that Bucky had on his face. Oh yeah, she was his daughter, alright – but she was clearly yours, too, when she spoke so matter-of-factly in that cute voice of hers, “See, Daddy? It’s a nasty habit!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “You win.”

The next thirty seconds or so were spent in silence as you checked out one SUV in particular. It was tall – so much that you had to get up on your tiptoes to peer through the tinted windows.

Then you glimpsed the price tag and nearly had a heart attack.

Nope. Not that one.

You only managed to take a couple of steps away before Bucky’s hand caught yours. Your heart instantly leapt into your throat at the familiar feeling of cool vibranium against your palm, especially when he gave a gentle tug to spin you around.

Heart pounding, your eyes snapped to his – such a soft, beautiful blue and full of appreciation.

“Listen, I know how hard this is for you, so…” With a single squeeze, he let go. “Thanks.”

Your throat was suddenly so dry, all you could do was nod.

Even still, it was surprisingly easy to fall into step beside him as he pointed things out to Winnie – different types of cars, different parts, different prices. He asked her to read some of the numbers out, which she tried to do; and for a couple of them, she was even successful.

“Good job, baby,” you praised her. “That’s a ‘three’!”

“Just like us,” Winnie said happily.

“That’s right,” Bucky chimed in. “Just like us.”

* * *

After a good half-hour of aimless wandering, you managed to select a couple of models for a test drive. Bucky held open the glass-paned door to the main office for you with his metal hand, and with the other, he held Winnie’s small one. She’d started whining for the bathroom a couple minutes prior.

It was easy to find a salesman, of course, but what he greeted you with caught you off guard. “What a lovely family! Looking for some extra room?”

Extra room for another child.

You must have had some awful look on your face, because Bucky glanced over at you for a moment before he smoothly intervened, “We’ve already got a couple models in mind that we’d like to take for a test drive.”

“Of course, sir! Which ones?”

“Sorry, where can we use the restroom?” you interrupted, to which the salesman pointed over to a corner by some offices. There, you spotted the sign hanging overhead, so you held your hand out to Winnie. “Thanks. Come on, baby. You said you had to go, right?”

She took your hand and nodded, sucking absentmindedly on her thumb – something she only did when there was a problem. She didn’t do it very often.

“Be right back,” you told Bucky, purposely ignoring the salesman in favour of getting your little girl to the bathroom.

“I’ll be here,” Bucky said with a smile, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Neither did yours.

* * *

After the two of you had relieved yourselves and washed your hands, you got her to take a seat in the plush armchair right outside the bathroom. Then you knelt in front of her to ask, “What’s the matter, baby?”

Winnie frowned, thumb still in her mouth.

“Come on, sweetpea,” you eased gently. “You know Mommy can’t help unless you say what’s wrong.”

Slowly, she took her thumb out of her mouth and mumbled, “Are we a family?”

Your heart broke at her question. Now that she was older, she was starting to question everything, especially the things that were important to her. This one would have been spurred on by that stupid car salesman’s greeting, and you felt terrible.

“Sure we are,” you answered truthfully. “Of course we are.”

“Even though I don’t see Daddy much?”

“That’s right,” you told her, and against your better judgement you added, “But you might get to see Daddy a lot more often.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.”

At that, she got the biggest, brightest smile on her face – and in that moment, when Winnie took your hand again, you swore that you would absolutely _ruin_ him if he broke his promise.

As the two of you rounded the corner on your way back, you caught him staring at you from across the room, looking absolutely floored.

_Oh._

He must have overheard. You’d forgotten about his enhanced hearing.

That was when Winnie spotted the kids’ corner, and she immediately took off for it. That was fine; free entertainment was free entertainment, especially when you were doing something so mind-numbing as buying a car.

“Everything okay?” he asked when you joined him again, clearly trying to play it off like he hadn’t. Thankfully the salesman was gone, likely pulling one of the SUVs around for a test drive.

“It’s not nice to eavesdrop, you know,” you commented dryly.

His wince confirmed your suspicions.

“I’m trusting you, Bucky.” At that, you shot him a pointed look, one meant to intimidate but it probably didn’t. This was Bucky, after all. The Winter Soldier. You couldn’t do a single thing against him, not really. “Promise me you’re not going to hurt her again.”

You didn’t care about yourself, so long as he didn’t hurt Winnie.

Even still, his adam’s apple bobbed when he held your gaze, and you found yourself thinking that you might not have done such a bad job after all.

“I won’t,” he told you. “I promise.”

That was when a horn sounded from outside, and you looked out the window to see the salesman waving at the two of you from the driver’s seat of what was probably the most expensive SUV on the lot. The sight of it alone made you break out into a nervous sweat, but you were doing this for your daughter, so you put on a brave façade just like always.

“I’ll keep an eye on her if you want to go for a spin,” Bucky offered – hesitant, almost, like he wasn’t sure you’d agree. You’d made your stance clear, both about your daughter and about the ridiculous price tag.

Then again, you couldn’t put a price on her safety.

“Thanks,” you said with a small smile. Despite your nervousness, it was genuine.

The one Bucky gave you in return was genuine, too.


	8. Chapter 8

After what felt like hours, you were the proud owner of a brand new Land Rover.

You didn’t really know the details, other than that the vehicle was in your name. Bucky may have paid for it in cash – or a bank transfer, but you didn’t know for sure because he signed most of the paperwork while you made sure Winnie didn’t get into any trouble in the play area. The only thing you signed was the title. He even offered to handle your insurance payments, because they would without a doubt skyrocket and you weren’t exactly confident that you’d be able to afford them.

It was a weird situation, and honestly, you weren’t sure how it made you feel. You were indebted to him, absolutely, but it made you feel… _good_, for some reason_._ Like he was taking care of you. Like he was taking care of Winnie.

Maybe because he was.

The ride back to the compound was short and sweet. Bucky streamed Winnie’s cartoon from his phone to the small built-in TV on the back of his seat, and she was absolutely delighted. Kept her busy while you tried to figure out what to say.

A simple ‘thank you’ didn’t seem like enough, but the smile he gave you in return made your heart pound. You turned up the radio to drown out the frenzied rhythm, but you could still hear it in your ears.

After you dropped him off, for the rest of the night all you thought about was him.

* * *

Eight o’clock came around and you realized that something was missing. Mr. Squiggles.

You’d been in such a rush – and such a state – to leave for the dealership this morning that you hadn’t double-checked Winnie’s belongings. You’d probably left some other things at Bucky’s, too, but her stuffed unicorn was the one thing she would absolutely have to have tonight. She’d throw a tantrum otherwise.

So you had no choice but to text him. Not that you minded.

_**You, 8:03pm**  
Sorry, I think we left Mr. Squiggles at your place. Could you please have a look?_

_**Bucky, 8:04pm**  
On it._

A few seconds passed, and then he sent you a photo of it laying atop Winnie’s lavender sheets. Oh, it was a huge relief that it hadn’t gotten lost during the vehicle trade-in. That would have been a nightmare.

_**You, 8:05pm  
**Thanks so much! We’ll be around shortly._

_**Bucky, 8:05pm**  
Already out the door. See you soon._

You stared blankly at his text for a few moments.

Bucky was coming over.

He was coming over _right now_.

He was saving you the trouble of going back to the compound. It would have been a half-hour round trip, not to mention Winnie’s excitement at making another unexpected visit. The two of you had a very specific bedtime routine that you rarely deviated from, otherwise you knew she’d never get to sleep. This was about to be another one of those nights, but Bucky was really saving you a lot of hassle by making the trip himself.

_**You, 8:06pm**  
Thank you! I’m getting Winnie ready for bed. Key’s under the mat if you want to let yourself in._

And with that, you set your phone down on the bathroom counter to focus on the task at hand.

“Winnie,” you called out, turning on the faucet to the tub. “Bathtime in five minutes.”

“Okay!” came her response from the living room – sweet, but begrudging. She never did like baths, but you found that giving her a five-minute warning helped a lot.

The tub filled quickly, with you checking every so often to make sure the temperature was alright. By the time you managed to corral her into the tub, more than five minutes had passed – not that you noticed. Lots of bubble bath and bath toys kept her entertained while you washed her hair and combed out all of the knots.

Your voices echoed off the tile as the two of you sang her bathtime song, to distract her from the pain of detangling her too-fine hair. You’d never understand how it got knotted so easily. Even with too much conditioner and plenty of detangling spray, it was still a chore to comb out her hair.

Then there was a sudden knock on the bathroom door, to which you jumped and bashed your head on one of the towel racks.

“Ow, Christ,” you swore, holding your aching head.

Bucky’s laughter was clear as day on the other side. “Sorry, doll. Guess you didn’t hear me come in.”

Winnie’s eyes lit up. “Is Daddy here?”

“Yes, Daddy’s here,” you began, but she hopped out of the tub to let him in and you changed your tune completely. “Winnie, honey, we’re not done with your bath—”

She fumbled with the doorknob for a moment before she yanked open the door.

Now, while you didn’t particularly want her trailing water all through the house, the bigger problem was that you were barely dressed. Just a flimsy tank top, no bra, and a pair of plain underwear. That was all. Bathtime got messy, and you didn’t like getting your clothes wet. You had a spare t-shirt and a pair of shorts sitting on the bathroom counter for when he arrived, but you hadn’t put them on yet; hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

Of course, Winnie wasn’t dressed, either, but she was his kid, for one, and for two, she was covered in suds anyway.

“Hi, princess,” he greeted gently, kneeling down to give her a kiss on the forehead. “Look who missed you today!”

When he pulled Mr. Squiggles out from behind his back, Winnie squealed and accepted the stuffed animal from him – and then she took off down the hallway towards her room, naked as the day she was born. Bucky let out a snort of laughter and then, when he finally chanced a look at you, the expression that came over his face made your face flush.

It wasn’t like Bucky hadn’t seen all of it before, but the way his eyes trailed down your body made you feel like he hadn’t. He took in every inch of you, every dip and curve and that made you hotter under the collar than it should have.

After a moment or two, however, he finally seemed to come to his senses.

“Shit, sorry,” he stumbled over his words, quickly turning around to give you your privacy. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you reassured him as you pulled on the t-shirt, but your throat was impossibly dry. “Thanks for coming.”

Water dripped from the faucet in a staggered staccato, the only sound save for the rustling of your clothing and Winnie’s quiet giggles down the hallway.

“You… You shouldn’t keep your key under the mat. It’s not safe.”

You glanced up from tying the drawstring on your shorts to find that Bucky had shoved his hands into his pockets, and he was peering up at the ceiling, as if to make a point that he absolutely wasn’t looking. He hadn’t yet changed out of his clothes from today; that plain black t-shirt was still tight as hell, and damn if his ass didn’t look even better in those jeans now than it had earlier.

You swallowed hard, willing your voice not to waver. “Where should I keep it, then?”

“I’ll have a look outside when I go.”

Well, he _would_ know best about this, wouldn’t he?

“Sure,” you said, pulling a towel from the rack. “Thanks. You can look now, I’m decent.”

You still weren’t wearing a bra, but the t-shirt mitigated that a bit. Putting a bra on was too much of a hassle and you were tired. You also had a bunch of other things to do before you went to bed – namely dry Winnie off (because she definitely wasn’t going to come back to the bathtub _now_), laundry, and lunches for tomorrow.

Bucky made it a point to keep his eyes above your collar this time, but he seemed more amused than anything, even if his cheeks were tinged pink.

“What?” you asked blankly.

“You’ve got bubbles in your hair,” he said with a grin, automatically reaching up to brush them away. He didn’t ask for permission, but he didn’t need it, either.

Your heart skipped a beat at his gentle touch, and that was when you noticed it – tension in the air, tension so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Your skin burned hot wherever he touched: the crown of your head, a stray lock of hair he tucked behind your ear, and finally on your cheek where his hand slowly, hesitantly came to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

Bucky spoke quietly, then, “I really appreciate you trusting me.”

He didn’t just mean with _this_, but with everything.

His eyes were soft and so, so blue that you just couldn’t handle it – so you shoved the towel at him, and that broke the spell. He immediately let you go in favour of catching it before it hit the ground.

“Do you want to put Winnie to bed?” was all you could manage with your brain short-circuiting.

“Yeah,” he stammered, “Yeah, of course. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” you said again, quickly pushing past him to make your way to the kitchen. You could barely breathe, because whenever you inhaled all you could smell was _him _and he was absolutely intoxicating. “Let me know if you need me.”

Thankfully, he didn’t.

* * *

A little after nine o’clock, you finally finished just about everything that needed doing before the morning. Laundry was in the dryer, dishes were done, and lunches were packed – three of them, because you wanted to do something nice for Bucky as a thank you. A couple of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were nothing in comparison to a six-figure Land Rover, but you did what you could.

Slowly, you cracked open the door to Winnie’s bedroom. Bucky hadn’t yet come out, so you were expecting to find him still reading to her, but he wasn’t. No, he was fast asleep with your daughter curled up into his side. Somehow, he’d wrangled her into her favourite nightie, and a half-open book lay on his chest; he hadn’t gotten very far into it by the looks of it.

It was a comical sight, because Bucky was such a thick, muscular hulk of a man, so much that he took up the majority of Winnie’s big girl bed – baby pink sheets atop a simple twin mattress. It was also incredibly sweet, and you found yourself smiling a little. 

After taking a few quiet steps into the room, you got to the bed and carefully plucked the book from Bucky’s hand. It was another one of her favourites, which you closed and sat on the nightstand.

He’d always been a light sleeper, at least in the time you were together but right now he didn’t seem to be. Even when you pulled a spare blanket from the closet and lay it over him, he didn’t stir at all. You tucked in your little girl, too, and then leaned over her father to press a kiss the crown of her head.

That was what finally seemed to wake him.

His arm slowly slid around your waist, metal cold against the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up, which sent a shiver through you – and then you toppled into bed with him, half on top of him if you were honest with yourself but all you could think about was how _good _thisfelt. One of your legs was thrown over his thigh, and the other was wedged between him and the edge of the mattress, holding most of your weight. 

He wasn’t awake at all, you realized. He wouldn’t do _this _without permission.

“Bucky,” you whisper-shouted at him. “Bucky, wake up.”

But he didn’t. No, instead he grumbled something inaudible and buried his face in your neck. His hot breath fanned against your sensitive skin, to which you grit your teeth at the pleasant feeling.

_God, _this felt good. When was the last time you slept with someone? Both literally and figuratively. 

“Bucky,” you tried again, just a little louder and with your free hand you dug your fingers into his ribs. Corded muscle jumped beneath your fingertips, but he still didn’t budge.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to your fate – not that you minded, truth be told – and you fished your phone out of your pocket to make sure he wasn’t going to miss any early-morning missions if he slept here overnight. A quick text to Steve would hopefully do the job.

_**You, 9:11pm**  
Does Bucky need to be anywhere in the morning?_

A couple of minutes passed, during which you made yourself a little more comfortable. Bucky’s grip around your waist had loosened enough for you to shift to a less awkward position, but you still couldn’t get out entirely. He had you well and truly trapped – except, well, he didn’t. Not really. 

If you wanted to, you definitely could have woken him up. You could have bit him. Scratched him. _Kissed_ him, even, if you had to. There were plenty of ways to wake him up, but you only made a couple of half-assed attempts.

Why?

_**Steve, 9:15pm**  
Not that I know of._

_**You, 9:16pm  
**Thanks!_

_**Steve, 9:16pm**  
Why?_

With a yawn, you set your alarm and then dropped your phone down on the bedside table. Bucky could have the honours of explaining this to his best friend. Tomorrow was going to be a mess, but that was a problem for the morning. Not for tonight. Not when you were so tired of fighting.

Maybe you could be a little selfish. Winnie slept like a log, after all, and you always woke up before her.

This was harmless. 

Right?

Your heart was racing, as were your thoughts, but all you could think about was how good it felt to be in his arms again, how comfortable it was to rest your head on his chest, how nice it would be to fall asleep to his steady heartbeat.

And it was.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky woke to a sudden crack of thunder and the sound of rain pelting a rapid cadence against the windows. A summer storm – a stark contrast to such a beautiful Sunday, but the house was eerily silent.

He quickly discovered why.

Winnie’s bed was too warm, too welcoming, because she was curled up on one side of him and you were fast asleep on the other – pinned against him with his arm around your waist.

_Oh._

The breath caught in his throat at the realization that he’d dragged you into bed with him. He must have; you wouldn’t have been lying here otherwise. You wouldn’t have chosen to, not in a million years.

You had boundaries.

Boundaries he hadn’t respected.

While his were more for show, he always tried to respect yours. This time, he hadn’t, and it bothered him – horrified him, if he was being honest, so much that his grip immediately went slack.

The bedside lamp was still on, warm yellow light illuminating your features so beautifully that he just couldn’t look away. His eyes traced every single one: the perpetual dark circles under your eyes, the slight part of your lips as you slept so soundly despite the fact that he’d _trapped_ you here. Flaws, but he didn’t consider them to be. The delicate rise and fall of your chest with each breath. The softness of your body against his. The way your leg was thrown over his so casually, reminiscent of the past.

God, you were gorgeous.

What caught him off guard was that your brows furrowed at the sudden lack of contact, and you pressed closer to him, cheek to his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

It made his heart ache. He missed this – missed you. Over two years later, and he _still_ needed you. He still wanted you. He still loved you.

A pipe dream.

Flesh fingertips brushed a few stray hairs from your forehead, skin softening under his touch, crease between your brows dissipating almost instantly. 

He tried not to read too much into it. An easy task to be sure, because he was too caught up in his own thoughts.

Why did he still feel this way?

Bucky found himself wishing that things could go back to the way they used to be. He’d make more of an effort this time. Lord knows he tried back then, but his insecurities got the best of him. He wasn’t worthy of your love, or of Winnie’s, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be happy. 

Somehow, he found happiness anyway. And then he ruined it.

He ruined it because he was afraid – afraid that you’d wake up one day and realize what a mistake you’d made, afraid that he’d finally let you in and you’d realize what a terrible person he really was. A murderer. An assassin. Blood stained his hands – serum-enhanced and vibranium _weapons – _but the only thing on yours was the faint scent of coffee.

His very fears became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Ironic.

And then there was Winnie. His daughter. His little girl. Innocent and incorruptible, but with him as a father that wouldn’t last long. It couldn’t.

So he ran.

He went on too many missions to count, to prevent that from happening. He kept his distance – kept his heart locked in a box, even though you’d given him yours on a silver platter. He kept you at arm’s length. Never let you get too close. Never gave himself the chance to ruin you, let alone his innocent baby girl. Never let either of you see that he was already broken beyond repair.

When you finally ended it, it came as a relief – at least until he realized how alone that made him feel. He hadn’t expected the agony of coming home to an empty apartment, an empty life, an empty nest. Crib and cradle gone – moved three hours upstate, as far away from him as you could possibly go without crossing state lines, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

No, the custody battle was a special brand of hell. You went for the jugular. He saw a side of you he’d never seen before – pure, unbridled _spite _and a viciousness that rivalled that of The Soldier. He would have rather faced the European Theater again, rather faced _Hydra_ again than fight with you.

Trials and tribulations through and through. In between his court proceedings on Capitol Hill, he stood in another courtroom, too – one with you less than six feet away, where tried to defend himself and his actions for the umpteenth time in hopes that you’d give him a shredof something he had no right to have.

One visit per month with his daughter.

That was all he got, and at first he thought it was enough. More than enough, because he didn’t deserve it to begin with. Even though the visits were supervised, he was grateful. Even though you didn’t trust him, he was content.

For a while.

Then it wasn’t, and it _hurt._ It was all his fault to begin with, but it hurt. He’d been too afraid to see what was right in front of him until it was gone – until it was too late to make amends, and you and Winnie were living your best lives without him.

The visits were an uphill battle, too, with him fighting against the deepest recesses of his mind but he _tried_. God, he tried, but he missed so many of them. By immersing himself in his work, by trying to make amends for all of his misdeeds, he was able to forget his misery for a little while.

And then you’d text him, and he’d remember.

_Don’t bother coming, you’re three hours late._

_We have shit to do, Bucky. Thanks for making us wait around for you, like always._

_Your daughter really loves it when you don’t show. She’s crying, Bucky. Well done._

Nasty, terrible digs at him, but he deserved them. He internalized them, and he didn’t put up a fight. He made the two of you suffer over and over again until something finally changed in him. 

He still didn’t think he deserved to be happy, but he didn’t want either of you to suffer anymore.

So he tried harder. He pushed for recruitment, for new Avengers, and with that came a change of hours. He’d be stateside more often than not. He’d be around, especially after the move to the compound.

Natasha helped him pick out the décor.

Steve helped him adjust to a smaller workload.

It wasn’t until then that Bucky finally had the nerve to talk to you about it. He didn’t want to show up unannounced at your home, especially because Winnie would be there and he didn’t want to put you on the spot in front of her. So, instead, he went to your workplace. The conversation didn’t go as planned; his words came out more as a demand than a request, and he could tell by the hard look in your eyes that you weren’t pleased.

But you acquiesced for him. Always for him, and he loathed how much he loved that you did.

Looking at you now, he still didn’t know why you were so _kind _to him. A spitfire, absolutely, especially when it came to Winnie, but he loved that about you. He loved that you were so sweet and giving, even when he didn’t deserve it. He loved that you were willing to compromise, even though he’d forced your hand about visitation, about custody.

And you gave in about other things, too. The car. An olive branch, perhaps.

He wasn’t sure whose.

Slowly, gently, Bucky pulled himself out of bed and lifted you into his arms – did his best not to disturb you or Winnie. He knew you’d have to work in the morning, and she’d have preschool. He wanted you to get enough rest, and sharing a bed with your daughter wasn’t the best thing for that, even if she was so small.

You deserved the world. You deserved everything, and so did she.

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest at the familiar feeling of you in his arms – so soft and sweet and absolutely perfect. Unfortunately, he only managed to reach the hallway when you stirred with a groggy whisper, “What’s going on?”

“Just taking you to bed, sweetheart,” he answered, keeping his voice low to suit the late hour. “Go back to sleep.”

You let out soft sound of acknowledgement, then, and the sleepy smile you gave him caught him off-guard, but not as much as when you snuggled closer to him – rest your forehead against his shoulder as he opened the door to your bedroom. 

Your breathing went steady and even before he even lay you down on your bed, but when he did, you didn’t let him go. Your delicate arms were wrapped snugly around his neck, which he was able to pry away easily enough, but you let out some incomprehensible grumble at the action just like you used to do.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

He pulled the sheets over you and pressed a kiss to your forehead – too familiar, he realized after the fact, but he didn’t freeze up until you mumbled sleepily, “Love you.”

Sweet words followed by a soft snore.

With his heart hammering inside of his chest, Bucky switched off the light.

* * *

When you woke up the next morning, everything was in its place – doors locked, lights off, two lunches packed. The third was gone, and so was he.

For an entire week, your calls and texts went unanswered. Things were the same as before. Nothing had changed – except everything had.

You just didn’t know it yet.


	10. Chapter 10

“His phone’s broken.”

A simple explanation to be sure, but it set you off.

You were thankful that Steve had said it over _your_ phone with you miles away from the compound, otherwise you may very well have stormed into the communications room and ripped Bucky a new one over the air. In fact, you still had half a mind to, but you didn’t. He’d been sent to Malaysia, apparently: a mission halfway across the globe. What difference would it make?

The worst part was that you sent Steve a bunch of panicked texts until he finally rang you back. Even his response was delayed, because he was busy, too – busy cleaning up his best friend’s mess, just like the last time. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did.

Of course it did. You let your guard down.

Why hadn’t Bucky just asked someone to keep you in the loop?

It was a simple ask, really, and something he should have done days ago. Instead, he put you in a bad spot – made you worry about him, made you overthink, made you feel like this past weekend was just a fluke, and maybe it was.

One step forward, two steps back.

Needless to say, when Bucky finally showed up on your doorstep, you nearly slammed the door in his face. The only thing that stopped you was the apologetic look in his eyes, although the small bouquet of daisies in his hand might have helped a little, too.

“You’re an asshole,” was the first thing out of your mouth.

He winced. You didn’t apologize.

“We can’t make this work if you don’t communicate with me, Bucky.”

“I know,” he admitted, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry.”

How many times had you heard that before?

“I’m not going to keep chasing after you for answers like this,” you told him, just a hint of bitterness seeping into your voice. “I shouldn’t have to. And I shouldn’t have to ask your friends, either.”

Bucky’s adam’s apple bobbed at your harsh tone, but no words came. You thought he looked conflicted, almost, like he wanted to say something, maybe defend himself like he was so wont to do, but he held it back. Instead, he took the tongue lashing and didn’t even try to argue – a stark contrast to how he used to be.

What’s more was that he _agreed_ with you, and that was the biggest surprise of all.

“You’re right. I should have asked someone to let you know. I’m sorry.”

That was when you noticed just how much he’d changed over the last two years. Then again, so had you.

You stared at him for a moment, hard and resolute, before you finally stepped aside to let him in. Bucky met your eyes with an unspoken question – _are you sure?_ – but the only thing you responded with was an aggravated sigh as you retreated back into the house.

You left the front door wide open for him, left the ball in his court.

The soft _click_ of the door closing, along with the heavy footfalls of his boots against tile let you know that he’d accepted your invitation.

Reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets, you retrieved a small vase for the flowers, doing your best to ignore the slightest flutter of appreciation in your chest. He’d remembered that you liked daisies, even if he had only ever bought them for you as an apology. That, at least, hadn’t changed.

No, that wasn’t true. He got you some on your first anniversary, too. Your only anniversary.

“How was Malaysia?” you asked, then, short and to the point. An exercise in civility. A difficult exercise. 

When you held your hand out for the bouquet, he immediately gave it to you and you pulled a pair of shears from your knife block to trim the stems.

Another routine.

“Hot,” Bucky replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just got in about a half hour ago.”

Tense. Awkward. Uncomfortable. That was how you felt, but a fraction of the tension faded away at his admission, indirect as it was. He’d come straight here after he got back – hadn’t even changed out of his tac gear, or at least not completely. Handgun holstered at his hip, belt and cargo pants still loaded with knives and ammo, the only thing missing was a thick layer of kevlar.

_Hot, _he’d said, and you tended to agree. You hadn’t seen him in his gear in a long time, and with the fire of your rage slowly fading to an insignificant smoulder, another fire started to burn.

You blamed it on the fact that you were alone with him – actually alone with him – for the first time in years. You’d already taken Winnie to preschool this morning, which worked out well enough because you didn’t really like the idea of her being around so many weapons, even though Bucky had always taken the utmost care to ensure that she never got into them. 

As for you, well, you’d taken the day off to catch up on errands and housework. How he knew he’d find you at home, you weren’t sure, but for some reason it didn’t bother you as much as it probably should have.

“How’s the car running?” he asked, his own attempt at making terrible conversation. 

“Better than my old one. Thank you.”

Cut and dry, but civil and full of projection.

Stems trimmed, you placed the small bouquet into the vase and filled it with water. Only after you finally met his eyes again did you notice how nervous he seemed to be. With a single look, you could just _tell_, even if he didn’t say a thing. 

James Buchanan Barnes, so nervous and walking on eggshells because of _you_. 

More tension faded away at that realization, however, and you felt the corners of your lips turn up in the slightest hint of a smile – one meant not to mock, but to reassure. When you spoke again, your tone was lighter than before and so was your heart. “Thanks for these, too, Bucky. They’re lovely.”

Bucky visibly relaxed upon seeing your smile, his shoulders slumping just a little.

Had he always been this easy to read?

“Can I— Can I take you to lunch?” he stammered, then, and it completely blindsided you. You got the feeling that it might have blindsided him, too; the question seemed a little rushed, like he’d blurted it out before his mind caught up and he quickly scrambled to add, “I know you're busy, and I’m probably the last person you want to eat with, it’s just— I found this little place ‘round the corner a few months back, and—”

Brows raising in amusement, you made a joke to help calm his nerves. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Bucky swallowed hard and quickly looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

Oh.

_Oh._

“No, not unless…” An anxious pause, then, and your heart began to race – at least until Bucky chose not to finish that train of thought. Instead, he cleared his throat and backtracked to a single, “No.”

You felt conflicted, because you knew exactly where that sentence was heading and you half-wished he’d seen it through. The other half of you understood what a bad idea that would have been.

Clearly, so did he.

A quick check of the clock on your wall indicated that it was just after eleven. You’d be free until Winnie’s preschool ended at two-thirty, and, if you were honest, you really had missed him over the last week. You’d started to miss his company, as stupid as it sounded when you’d done just fine without him over the last two years.

“I can do lunch,” you offered, “but I’ll have to leave around two.”

Soft blue eyes widened at first, but then they crinkled up at the corners in the way you’d always loved. Even now, seeing that gorgeous smile made you weak.

* * *

The sun shone brightly upon the two of you as you walked side-by-side, leisurely, through the park near your house. Funny that you only used to meet Bucky here for his visits with Winnie, but now it was just you and him.

He’d stripped off the rest of his tac gear before you left, lest he kickstart the mommy group rumour mill. Bucky wasn’t exactly a secret of yours, per se, but being loaded up with weapons was a good way to draw attention. Neither of you wanted that, least of all him because of who he was – who he’d been – and so at your offer, Bucky locked his weapons inside of your bedroom closet.

“It’s safer than anywhere else in the house, right?” you pointed out matter-of-factly. “A locked closet with no windows.”

“Looks like you haven’t _completely _forgotten my training, then.” 

His teasing tone set your cheeks aflame.

The sound of children’s laughter cut through the air, and you found yourself sneaking glances over at him as the two of you made your way past the playground. The faraway look in his eyes as he watched the children playing gave you pause; at first, you assumed it was because he remembered bringing Winnie here, too.

It wasn’t, you soon learned when he asked abruptly, “Have I told you that I’ve started going to therapy?”

“You—” It took a moment to find your footing with such a jarring reveal of sensitive information. “You have?”

“Yeah.”

Well, that explained a _lot_. You’d pushed him to go to therapy during the latter half of your relationship, but he refused more than once – so much that you eventually stopped asking. That was around the same time you gave up on him.

After taking a moment to choose your words, you placed a gentle hand on his upper arm. “I’m... I’m happy for you, Bucky. That must have been a hard first step to take.”

That was what finally seemed to pull him from that faraway place. Your touch. He looked down at your hand, first, and then at you – features soft, almost wistful as he answered, “Yeah. It was.”

And then, silence reigned supreme once again.

You wanted to know more, of course you did, but you didn’t want to pry. Maybe he’d tell you more someday. You _hoped_ he’d tell you someday, but why? It had nothing to do with you. How selfish, wanting to know his innermost secrets. Of course he’d never tell you. It wasn’t any of your business. Not anymore.

The warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips almost burned, you’d missed him so much, and you pulled your hand back to your body, using it as a shield to peer up at the sunny sky. It was a feeble attempt to distract yourself from your thoughts. Even the faint laughter on the wind couldn’t stop you from wishing for things you’d never have. Wishing for _him_.

Playdates in the park with you, Bucky, and your little girl, just like the smattering of parents always close by the swing set. Commonplace on a beautiful day like today. Normal. _Right._

Celebratory dinners when Winnie did well in school, and birthday dinners, too: March for him, and May for her.

Weekends and holidays spent together, an delicate amalgamation of his family’s old traditions and yours.

You and Bucky had planned to make your own traditions, once. Sunday morning pancakes were just the start – sparked by soft, sleepy whispers shared between sweethearts, suggestions of what your little family might do in the future. Ham for Thanksgiving, perhaps, and a Stark-inspired celebration when Winnie graduated from college. The two of you had even talked about the beautiful wedding she might have one day.

Plans made for years away, but the seeds were planted – seeds that withered away. 

Once-forgotten wishes of a life with him now lay at the forefront of your mind, not so easily forgotten this time. No matter how large the star you wished upon, it would never be able to bring the life back to a relationship so stunted in its growth. Not when the water – the love – had run dry.

Today, Bucky had drawn a clear line in the sand between the two of you.

This wasn’t a date. His love had run dry.<strike></strike>


	11. Chapter 11

Lunch was the most uncomfortable ham and cheese melt you’ve ever had.

That’s not to say you didn’t like the diner. Kitschy and quaint – a real hole in the wall, really, and although you’d lived right around the corner for the last two years, you hadn’t even known it was here. If you were being honest, though, you probably would have given it a pass even if you _had_ known. With worn-down tables, cracked red vinyl booths, and chipped mugs filled to the brim with terrible coffee, this wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d ever take your young daughter.

That said, when you were single and childless, it would have been right up your alley.

Dives were a dime a dozen in New York, but you had your favourites. This one in particular reminded you of a place you used to frequent before, but more so after you started eating for two, especially when Bucky used to indulge your pregnancy cravings. In lieu of flowers, he often brought home your usual order from the little diner down the street: a couple of ham and cheese melts that the two of you shared over Netflix binges well into the night.

You liked the melt from here, too. And the greasy fries.

What you didn’t like was the tension.

This wasn’t a date. Bucky had made that perfectly clear. He didn’t _want _it to be a date, because he wouldn’t have said ‘no’ to begin with. Right? All he wanted was— well, you weren’t sure what it was he wanted, exactly. He’d invited you out for lunch, but you couldn’t figure out why. To help with your strained co-parenting relationship, perhaps, or did he just enjoy your company?

No way. How could he, when you were so standoffish and nasty all the time?

Some part of you hoped that he still did want to spend time with you, but you pushed that idea right out of your mind. It was more important for you and Bucky to get along for your daughter – to work as a unit, a team, even if you weren’t together.

Right?

The problem was that you missed being together. You missed _him_.

You missed the twinkle in those gorgeous baby blues when he told you how much he loved you; missed that stupid, smug smile on his face when he teased you; missed the gentleness he offered you, the warmth, the affection. Even if his love was long gone, yours certainly wasn’t, and as of late you’d caught yourself daydreaming about what could have been.

What if you hadn’t ended things?

Where would your little family be?

Would Winnie have a little brother or sister?

Even when things were rocky way back when, you still thought about Bucky, longed for him, maybe even _needed_ him sometimes. As independent as you were before the two of you got together – and after, especially as a single mom – you could definitely get by on your own, but it was nice to share your life with another person. It was nice to have someone to come home to.

When he was there, anyway. He usually wasn’t. Work kept him away.

You were better off on your own.

Right?

Toying with the last half of your sandwich, you found yourself sneaking glances at Bucky from across the well-worn table. Staring at his phone, he seemed lost in thought, brows furrowing as he read the messages he’d just received. He’d been happy to ignore them until the fourth chime; it would have been important, unfortunately, and he’d apologized for even pulling it out at all.

Work.

You certainly didn’t miss _that, _but today, you didn’t mind. You were just happy to spend time with him. And you were happy to see how far he’d come. Therapy at last; who would have thought? Bucky had taken great strides to better himself, and he’d changed in a lot of ways. Improved.

Soft chestnut locks fell into his face, which he absentmindedly blew out of his eyes as he typed out a response with a quickness you’d never seen. Two years’ experience with modern day technology had apparently upskilled him quite a bit, not that you cared right in this moment because you were more focused on how stupidly attractive he was.

You wanted to run your fingers through his stupid, messy hair. Wanted to brush it out of his stupid, handsome face. Wanted to kiss him and tell him how much you’d missed him.

Stupid to think any of that at all, but you did it anyway.

Your eyes trailed down to the tight, moisture-wicking black t-shirt on his body, which accentuated strong, muscular arms – arms that he’d wrapped around you too many times to count – arms that had always made you feel safe, despite the fact that one of them was cold and hard and _dangerous_.

Dangerous, but not to you. Never to you. A couple of red marks and bruises, nothing more, and only when you asked him for it. Or begged.

The sudden memory sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

His thick, callused fingers typed away at the screen, but you knew firsthand just how dexterous they could be. A completely appropriate thought for such a harmless setting, to be sure, and you felt your face start to heat up as your thoughts went down a path they absolutely shouldn’t have.

“It’s Nat,” Bucky said, then, startling you out of your daydream, and your eyes jerked up to his.

“What?” you asked hoarsely.

“Natasha.” He waved his phone just a little to indicate what he was talking about, before he set it to the side. “She wants a debrief.”

Right. The mission. The one he’d just returned from.

“It’s fine,” you told him as evenly as you could manage, heart pounding within the confines of your chest. It felt like you’d been caught fantasizing about him, caught red-handed, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You don’t have to explain.”

You’d never expected him to share work details with you, and you still didn’t. Curiosity was human nature, but you didn’t need to know. That wasn’t what mattered, anyway; what mattered was that he never used to be around because of it.

Now he was.

“I know I don’t _have_ to,” he said, casually reaching over the table to steal a couple of your fries. He’d already eaten all of his, along with the rest of his food. Bucky had always been a fast eater; that hadn’t changed, at least, and neither had his familiarity with you in such a casual setting.

You liked it.

Still wanted some paybacks, though, so as he went to shove your fries into his mouth, you reached over and snatched the pickle off of his plate. He’d saved it for last, because James Buchanan Barnes had always loved a good dill pickle. That hadn’t changed, either.

Fries just inches away from meeting their untimely death, Bucky froze, as if he only happened to realize just nowwhat he’d done. The guilty look on his face told a different story, however.

“Give me the fries or the pickle gets hurt,” you warned.

“Hey,” he pleaded half-heartedly. “Come on, you’re not gonna eat ‘em all—”

“_Fries_,” you repeated, inching the pickle closer to its demise: your mouth.

“Okay, okay! Here.” Bucky held them out to you – a peace offering, or maybe he was just kissing ass. He’d always been good at that, hadn’t he? “Damn. Forgot how much you love your fries.” 

You, of course, did what any normal person would do. You took them right out of his hand. Except, unlike any other normal person, you used your mouth.

Your lips brushed against his callused fingertips, accidental contact that felt like pure electricity. It made you remember all sorts of things the two of you had once done behind closed doors – things you absolutely shouldn’t have been thinking of in this particular setting, or at this particular moment. 

One-track mind. Especially today.

Why?

Even you could hear his sharp intake of breath. 

Emboldened, not to mention empowered by the stunned expression on Bucky’s face, you licked away the salt from your lips. “Guess we’re gonna have to make sure you don’t forget again, huh?”

Then you took a bite of the pickle, as if to make a point. What point that was, you had no idea, and it didn’t matter anyway. This was all just a confident façade, a front meant to hide the racing of your heart.

You watched his surprise give way to something a little darker – a certain look that matched your memories tit-for-tat and had your panties sticking uncomfortably to the apex of your thighs. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

His voice, low and rough, set your body on fire.

Oh, this _was_ a dangerous game.

You loved it.

“I don’t know, Buck,” you drawled, eyeing the pickle. “Two years is a long time, isn’t it? Been awhile since you stole some of my fries.”

Then you turned your attention back to him. 

Teasing, yes. Dangerous, absolutely.

You were _flirting_. Why, oh why, were you flirting? Nothing good would come of this, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He’d changed. This wasn’t the same Bucky anymore. Deep down, it was still him, just a better version, a fact that was becoming more and more evident the more time you spent with him.

Your nerves went haywire as Bucky studied your face; his eyes traced every dip and curve and feature, and when you worried your lower lip in between your teeth, his focus lingered on your mouth for a few seconds longer than necessary.

Tense in the best way. You loved that, too.

Then he cleared his throat and looked away.

“You… You go ahead and have it, doll. I’ll get the check.” 

* * *

Rejection. That’s what it was. Pure and simple.

What the hell were you thinking? Of _course_ Bucky turned you down. Not that your intentions were obvious, anyway; _you _didn’t even know what you wanted from him, so how could he? How on earth could he know that you’d been longing for him like an idiot? 

You’d been daydreaming not just what could have been, but what could be.

Except it couldn’t. Not really.

Your relationship was over. It would always be over. The two of you had already come to an agreement about that – that your daughter was more important. Her safety. Her stability. Winnie didn’t need parents who argued and couldn’t stand each other. She needed good role models. She needed love, and this was the best way of ensuring that she got it. Better to love her separately and do a good job parenting her than the alternative.

Right?

So what the hell had gotten into you?

Maybe you’d flirted because the future wasn’t set in stone, and you had hope. For some stupid reason, you hoped that he felt the same way, that he wanted this too, that he missed you just as much as you missed him. And that was worst part of all, because you already knew he didn’t. 

Two years was a long time. He would have moved on by now, just like you should have. 

You hadn’t. You couldn’t. How idiotic.

“You’re quiet,” came Bucky’s voice from your left, soft but playful. “What happened to all that sass?”

His gentle ribbing pulled you out of your reverie, and that was when you realized that the two of you had just made your way back past the playground in the park. Despite your embarrassment, the sun was still shining, the kids were still playing, and the parents were still around, still watching, still _together_.

Not like the two of you.

Ever the gentleman, Bucky had insisted on walking you home after paying for your meal. His invitation, his treat. And you’d thanked him, of course, but for the entire walk back you’d been ruminating over the fact that you made a fool out of yourself.

“I’m tired,” you lied. In reality, you were wide awake. Too awake. “I had some trouble sleeping last night. Just can’t turn my brain off sometimes.”

That, at least, was the truth.

His soft laugh made your heart ache. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” Then he paused, likely to consider whether it was appropriate before he finally offered, “Anything I can help with?”

You met his eyes, then – such a stunning blue, a reflection of clear blue sky and far too genuine – before you quickly turned away, shoving your hands in your pockets. A nervous tic, maybe, or a defense mechanism.

A barrier. 

A wall.

“No,” you responded, even though you desperately wanted to say the opposite, “but thanks.”

Rejection. That’s what it was. Pure and simple.

“Sure,” was all he said before an awkward silence came over the two of you, and you only vaguely noticed when his hands slid into his pockets, too.<strike></strike>


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky’s heart was in his throat the entire walk to the counter to pay. With his pulse racing just as fast as yours, the check was a means of escape. Instinctual, perhaps – fight or flight, and he chose the latter because he was absolutely fucking terrified.

What did you want from him?

He cared about you. He loved you. That much was clear, but in that moment, he’d been forced to confront his feelings and he wasn’t ready to. Not yet. Not with you gazing at him across the table, teeth dragging across your lower lip in such an enticing way that it made him break into a nervous sweat. 

God, how irresistible could you be?

It wasn’t just nerves that drove him up a wall. Bucky wanted to act on the implication in your words, your teasing, your flirting. He wanted to reach over across the table and kiss the breath out of you, desperately, with every fibre of his being. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not yet.

He wasn’t ready.

To be a parent, he was. To be a dad.

But to disappoint you again? He absolutely wasn’t.

Needless to say, things only worsened on the walk back to your house – the walk from hell. Somehow, he managed to keep his cool, but his mind was a mess. Anxiety. Panic. Fear. _What ifs_ ran through his mind on an endless loop and gnawed incessantly at his subconscious.

What the hell did you want from him?

But Bucky knew what you wanted. Deep down, he probably always knew.

The sound of your heartbeat was a dead giveaway; quiet, almost inaudible, but he’d heard it quicken. He’d seen the flush come across your cheeks as you teased him – simple words to be sure, but laced with innuendo.

He wasn’t just imagining things. 

And yet, you had been the one to draw a line in the sand two years ago, to shut down any future the two of you might have had. _You_ left _him_, and it had been your idea to come to an agreement for Winnie. Even now, he knew that you’d been right to do so. She was more important. She’d always be more important. 

Bucky knew you knew that, too, so what the hell was he supposed to do?

He missed you. He loved you. He wanted to be with you.

But he loved his daughter, too.

* * *

Bucky startled awake to nothing but silence, the sound of his own voice echoing in his ears.

_You take me instead, do you hear me?_

A thin sheen of sweat coated his body, and he ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. One, then two. Pitch dark room. Moonlight spilled in through the blinds and onto his duvet.

All he wanted to do was dream – to forget – but instead, he had a nightmare.

_Give her back and take me instead._

The words scratched at the back of his throat, dry and unbearable. How many times had he heard that particular phrase? Too many times to count. Too many memories of Hydra blurred the lines within his brain, made things feel entirely too real. Possibly because they were.

Bucky had done awful things to secure Hydra’s future, and although he hadn’t been a willing participant, it was still him. All him. He’d done such terrible things that his mind liked to conjure them as a punishment of his own making. 

Once, he ripped a woman away from her father. Made him watch.She’d been a threat to Hydra, and thus had to be eliminated despite her father’s desperate pleas to give her back, to take him instead. And now, Bucky understood.

Usually, he watched helplessly as Winnie was kidnapped – taken from him, her young life snuffed out with the flick of a wrist. Or the tip of a knife. Or the sound of a gun.

Quick. Efficient. All ways in which he’d taken lives before.

His sweet, darling daughter, dead in a millisecond. The heartbreak and pain he felt at the very thought of it – never mind witnessing it in such a vivid nightmare – could only be replicated when it was you instead of Winnie. And Bucky understood that, too.

He’d murdered a newlywed on her wedding night, right in front of her groom. Blood spatter against white spackled walls, pristine dress stained a rich, ruby red. Life snuffed out more easily than love, he discovered, when he wound up having to dispatch her new husband, too.

_I love her._ _Give her back. Take me instead._

Bucky would have done the same for you. 

He’d found the smallest shred of stability with you, despite his uncanny ability and willingness to blow it up because of his own insecurities – but his past still came back to haunt him anyway. 

With a shudder, he dragged his hands down his face, trying to forget the horrors.

It was in times like these that he missed you the most. No matter what, you’d always offered him so much comfort and love despite everything he’d done. Quiet, gentle comfort he’d grown so accustomed to that, even two years after the fact, he still had yet to figure out how he’d survived without.

You’d rouse with a sleepy mumble of his name and reach out for him, small hand coming to rest against his heaving chest. The harsh pounding of his heart beneath your palm would wake you a little more – as would the feel of Bucky’s too-hot skin, sticky with sweat, and you’d blearily blink your eyes open to look over at him in the darkness.

_Shh, _he’d say._ Go back to sleep, doll_. _I’m fine._

Fine. Always fine. 

Always a lie.

Just like the crooked smile on his lips, meant to reassure you that it wasn’t a lie this time. Even though it was.

_Oh, Bucky… Come here._

You’d see right through him in an instant. Stroke his hair. Whisper sweet nothings to him in the softest, sweetest voice he’d ever heard, delicate and strong all at once. And when you’d tell him that everything was going to be alright, well, he just had to believe you, didn’t he?

Sometimes he’d break down a little at your gentle touch and even gentler words. He’d wrap his arms around you, hold you tight, cling to you like you were his lifeline and in a lot of ways, you were. He often told you things in confidence that he’d never told anyone before; it felt good to have another person to join him in the darkness, no matter how slight.

And you’d stroke his hair.

_Christ._

With an aggravated sigh, Bucky snatched up his phone from the nightstand. He desperately wanted to seek comfort from you like you’d done so many times before so long ago. The problem was that he felt conflicted, now, because of a multitude of reasons: your relationship was already so strained, for one, and it was bound to affect Winnie. Not to mention he _knew_. 

He knew you wanted to be with him, but you deserved better.

If he reached out, he’d be taking advantage of your feelings for his own selfish comfort. It would complicate things. He’d disappoint you again. He’d ruin what little good relations the two of you had, and it would negatively affect Winnie.

Sweet, sweet Winnie, who’d had a halo of blood around her perfect little head. His darling daughter. Dead in her big girl bed. Bullet in her brain.

Three in the morning. You wouldn’t be awake, but right now he just couldn’t shake the need for your kind, soothing words.

_She’s alright, Bucky, _you’d say. _She’s fine._

He knew you would.

Thumbs hovering over the keyboard on the screen, he couldn’t help himself. Selfish. So, so selfish.

** _Bucky, 3:18am  
_ ** _Sorry. I know it’s late. Are you awake?_

As soon as Bucky hit ‘send’, he immediately wanted to take it back. He’d managed so many times without you before, and he could do it again. All he had to do was try. A nightmare. That was all. Winnie was fine.

It was so stupidly selfish of him to reach out to you like this, knowing what he knew. He didn’t _need _you to comfort him. He just wanted it, wanted you.

Needed you.

When his phone vibrated less than a minute later, it made him jump.

**_You, 3:19am_**  
What’s wrong?

You had to work in the morning. Why were you up?

Staring at your message, Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say. He started to type one thing, then backspaced and tried another, only managing to get a couple of words in before he changed his mind again. A text was so impersonal – not like how sweet and caring you were in person, in bed with him, and he had some difficulty finding the right words for the situation.

Three or four attempts later, his phone vibrated again and he froze.

A phone call this time.

Bucky barely had time to bring the phone up to his ear before you were already asking on the other end, “Who was it this time?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, before he rasped, “Winnie.” Then he cleared his throat and tried again, “Winnie.”

“Okay, hold on,” you told him, and then he heard some shuffling – fabric against the microphone, and your voice came through a little more muffled. “Must have been pretty bad tonight, huh?” Your tone was light despite the dreadful subject; then came a creak, a pause, and you let out a soft laugh. “She’s fine.”

His phone vibrated again.

In confusion, Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear. You’d sent him another text, which he quickly opened to find a photo of Winnie sleeping soundly in her big girl bed. No blood. No halo. She _was_ fine, and fast asleep in what was probably the most uncomfortable position he’d ever seen in his life.

He couldn’t help but snort.

“See?” you said, voice much clearer now, albeit still holding onto the last remnants of sleep. “I bet she got that from you. Our daughter, the contortionist.”

Gentle ribbing, despite how uncomfortable this afternoon had been.

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” he croaked, but his heart felt lighter than before. “How’d she fall asleep with her leg like that?”

“I don’t know,” you responded, laughing some more. “She sleeps like that a lot. I think she saw it in one of her cartoons. Just kind of stuck.”

Bucky let out a soft hum of acknowledgement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another laugh, quieter this time, faded into silence before you asked him softly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You knew. You always fucking _knew_ and he hated how much he loved it. And just plain hated it, because you always saw right through him.

“It’s late,” Bucky deflected. No matter how much he wanted to talk about it, he didn’t want to drag you down when he was already bothering you like this. He’d woken you up. It wasn’t his place to do that anymore. “Thanks for the photo. I think I’m gonna make it my wallpaper.”

A joke. Another deflection.

Hollow.

There was another deafening pause, before you offered, “Are you free for breakfast?”

“What?”

“Winnie would love to see you,” you told him, and he could just hear the smile in your voice. “I’ll even make some french toast.”

“I don’t— I don’t wanna impose,” Bucky stammered at the unexpected invitation, already feeling the anxiety pool in the pit of his stomach. What’s worse was that he _did_ want to impose. He wanted to impose very much.

“Then you can help,” you teased. “Come on. It’s just breakfast.”

It wasn’t just breakfast.

“We’ve gotta leave by eight, so let’s make it seven?” you mused aloud. “Yeah. How’s seven?”

He forced down the lump in his throat. “Seven’s… Seven’s fine.”

“Okay, good! See you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay. See you then.”

When the line went dead, Bucky just stared blankly at his phone. 

What just happened?

You’d just talked him into breakfast and he still had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. His thoughts started to race for the umpteenth time, full of panic and dread, but no matter how rational he tried to be, an undercurrent of excitement still ran through him like electricity. It made him feel good. Warm. 

Breakfast with you. Breakfast with Winnie.

His girls.

Despite all his nervous energy, Bucky actually managed to sleep soundly for once. So soundly, in fact, that he slept right through his alarm.<strike></strike>


	13. Chapter 13

Winnie helped you set the table. 

Well, more like you held her up while she plopped down plates and glasses and cutlery just like every other day. Good thing you’d gotten the supposedly unbreakable kind from Ikea, because she wasn’t gentle in the least. Clumsy, just like always.

“Three?” she asked, blinking up at you with those big blue eyes of hers.

You smiled at her. “That’s right, sweetpea. Three.”

Three place settings. It didn’t take her long to piece it together.

With an excited shriek of, “Daddy’s coming!” she jumped down from your arms and ran to the living room to grab her stack of princess colouring books. She obviously wanted him to help her colour them in, because she plopped them down onto the table and asked, “Which princess does Daddy like?”

You laughed and ruffled her hair. “I guess we’ll just have to ask him, won’t we?”

He’d say ‘Winnie,’ though. She was his favourite. Not Belle. Not Ariel.

Winnie.

Except seven o’clock came and went, and you started to think otherwise.

** _You, 7:09am:_ ** _   
You’re probably just running a little late. That’s okay, I’m just putting the french toast on now. See you in a few._

No response.

Tick-tock went the clock. 

** _You, 7:21am:_ ** _   
Winnie has some new colouring books she wants you to see. Will you be here soon?_

Still no response.

An extra plate of french toast lay untouched upon the kitchen table, next to a bottle of syrup and an empty glass.

You picked at your plate and watched your daughter eat her breakfast. Winnie’s attempts to take bites of french toast as she scribbled in her colouring book were comical, almost, but you couldn’t find it in you to smile. 

Everything felt just like before. 

Half past was when you gave up hope that Bucky would be coming. 

You probably should have put her colouring book away so as not to get syrup stains all over it, but you just couldn’t be bothered. Her crayons would be sticky, too, but you didn’t care. It kept her occupied – kept her from realizing how late it was. 

Not for long, unfortunately.

“Where’s Daddy?”

You looked up from the colouring book to Winnie’s worried face and noticed that her little eyebrows creased in the exact same way as her father’s. She didn’t deserve to feel like this, and neither did you.

“I think Daddy might have gotten a little caught up with work,” you lied – absolutely hating that you had to lie to her, just like before. “Mommy will see if he can come over for breakfast tomorrow instead, okay?”

Winnie’s lower lip started to wobble, and your heart clenched in your chest.

“He’s not coming?” she asked again, like your answer might change.

“No, baby,” you told her with a sad smile. “Not today.”

“But we set the table,” she protested. “We made extra toasts!”

“I know, Winnie, but—”

“But I saved Elsa!” she whined, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. “_Elsa_, Mommy!”

“I know, honey,” you soothed, leaning over to stroke her back. “I know. Daddy will help you colour her in tomorrow, okay?”

Sniffling, Winnie nodded, but she didn’t seem convinced. You could tell by the way her scribbling became a little rougher; her crayons snapped here and there, and the pages were soon covered with lots of orange and pink and red.

Mostly red.

Crisis averted for now, but you knew it wouldn’t last. If Bucky was falling back into the same habits, then this breakdown would be the first of many. Winnie had just started to stabilize a bit, and now he’d thrown off her equilibrium all over again.

Needless to say, it quickly devolved into the morning from hell. Colouring books put away in favour of getting dressed for daycare, and what a nightmare _that_ was. Temper tantrums for the next half hour. Clothes yanked off more than once. Ear-splitting screams when you combed her hair.

Fantastic.

The second you’d dropped her off at daycare, you yanked your phone out of your purse, fully intending to give Bucky a piece of your mind. Still sitting in the parking lot, you angrily dialled his number, absently watching the leaves fall from the trees in the distance. Gorgeous autumn colours: yellow and orange and red.

Mostly red. 

You saw red, too.

“Barnes,” came his sleepy morning voice on the other end, and although you’d very much loved the sound of it once upon a time, not now you didn’t.

“I thought you were coming for breakfast,” you bit out, unable to keep the venom out of your words. “Where the fuck were you?”

“I—What?” He sounded a little more awake, now. A little more alert. “What time is it?”

“Eight-twenty,” you spat. 

“What?” A pause where he likely checked for himself, and then, “Shit, _shit,_ I’m so sorry, doll, I—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupted. “Your daughter had a breakdown. I hope you’re happy.”

“I’m getting dressed right now, I’ll be there in ten—”

“I’ve already dropped her off.”

That was when the rustling of clothing on the other line slowed, and then stopped completely. It must have started to sink in that he was too late. 

He’d fucked up.

The silence that befell the two of you was tenser than usual, much worse than yesterday. Bucky had made a promise not to hurt Winnie again, and he’d broken it. When he pulled this same bullshit and disappeared for a week, you’d managed to spin a story about it, but this? No way. Not again.

Why should you have to keep lying for him?

Everything was just like before.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, a lot quieter this time, and you bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah,” you responded flatly. “Me too.”

Then you ended the call.

* * *

You should have been at work twenty minutes ago.

The second you hung up on him, you lost it. Tears and mascara spilled down your cheeks. Near-pristine makeup smudged. Foundation rubbed away from your nose. In the leather passenger’s seat sat a small pile of tissues, discarded as easily as he’d done to you. Your phone lay next to them – three missed calls and a handful of texts. You didn’t have to look to know that they were from him.

After slowing to a stop in your usual parking spot, you used the pads of your fingers to delicately rub away some of the black streaks on your cheeks. Your eyes were still a little teary, a little bloodshot, and you’d already salvaged what you could of your makeup. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. You just looked like a reindeer, red nose and all.

What a mess.

Then came a hard rap on your window, and you jumped – nearly jabbed yourself in the eye.

Bucky.

Your stomach lurched in an instant.

On his face was pure alarm – panic – but all you could do was stare at him in shock through the tinted window of the Land Rover.

What the hell was he doing here?

“Let me explain,” he said, voice muffled through the security of your car. “Please. I— I can’t lose you again.”

Both of you, you assumed. You and Winnie. 

Mostly Winnie.

It didn’t even cross your mind that it could have been a freudian slip. 

You swallowed hard and pulled the keys from the ignition, before you opened the car door. When you spoke, your voice sounded so much worse than you thought it would. Hoarse. Rough. Exactly like you’d been crying. 

“You have as long as it takes for me to get inside.”

Bucky glanced to the front door of your coffee shop and then back at you. Thirty seconds, tops, but he spent a few of them taking in your appearance – eyes tracing the tear stains on your cheeks, your flushed nose, your chapped lips. It made you feel self-conscious.

Fantastic.

“I’m sorry,” he began for the umpteenth time, and you barely managed not to scoff, gravel crunching under your feet. “I didn’t hear my alarm. I was gonna be there, sweetheart, swear to god. Please.”

“You never sleep in,” you fired back, accusatory. “Why today?”

“I…” Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground. Ashamed. For what, you weren’t sure. “I don’t get nightmares as often as I used to, and… and talking to you made me feel better. I actually dreamt for once.”

A dream. Not a nightmare. And he was ashamed.

Why?

You stopped walking to finally look at Bucky – really look, and you found that he seemed well-rested. Panicked, absolutely, but well-rested. No dark circles under his eyes; no pallor to his complexion.

Thinking back on it, he’d always looked like this as of late. Maybe he really had been sleeping better than he used to. Two years was a long time, after all, and he’d been going to therapy. That must have helped, too. 

“What did you dream about?” you asked point-blank. You weren’t sure why. A test, maybe, or curiosity.

His brows rose in surprise. “What?”

“Your dream. What was it about?”

Fingertips digging anxiously into the shoulder strap of your purse, you peered up into those pretty baby blues, searching for whatever lie he may have tried to pull out of his ass. He held your gaze for a moment or two before he looked away again, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

“You.”

A nervous tic. Not a lie.

You opened your mouth to say something, but then you closed it again, having expected a different answer – something, _anything_ but that. The light dusting of pink coming across his cheeks made you realize what, exactly, he’d dreamt about.

“O-Oh,” you stammered.

What the hell?

That was when your phone chimed. Absolutely perfect timing, because you felt awkward and you didn’t know what else to say, other than a half-hearted apology for fishing your phone from your purse. 

Bucky just shook his head, as if to say _don’t be sorry. _

You had nothing to be sorry about, anyway. 

Still, you spent a little more time than necessary rereading the text you’d just received from one of your baristas. The cafe was low on almond milk, apparently. You’d have to go to the store, because the milk order wasn’t due in until tomorrow. 

That gave you some time to figure out what to do.

As angry as you’d been, you still had a soft spot for Bucky. You had always had a soft spot for him, and that hadn’t changed, no matter how hellish your morning had been for you and your little girl.

“Why don’t you come to the store with me?” you suggested. “Maybe buy me some daisies while we’re there. A big bouquet this time.”

A joke. How stupid. Where had all your strength gone?

You were still upset, but what he’d said had disarmed you quite a bit.

“Sure. Yeah, of course.” His response came way too quickly. “Whatever you want.”

Good answer.

On the way back to your car, you noticed that Bucky had parked a few spots down. He really must have scrambled to get here, because he’d somehow arrived before you did. While you _had_ been running late, the drive still took some time and he lived further away than you.

“It’s unlocked,” you told him, pulling open the driver’s side door again. As you got inside, you spotted the pile of tissues sitting in the passenger’s seat.

Fantastic.

“Sorry,” you mumbled in embarrassment, leaning over the console to collect the mess you’d made. There weren’t a ton of tissues, just a couple of handfuls, but you struggled to fit them all into your purse. No trash can.

A quick glimpse in the rearview mirror showed that you still looked like hell. There was no way he wouldn’t put two and two together. 

“That’s okay,” Bucky told you, gentle voice like honey to your ears. 

After you placed your too-full purse on the back seat, his large, warm hand came to rest on your cheek – caught you entirely off guard. You froze up in an instant, and it took a lot of willpower to meet his eyes again.

“I’m sorry for making you cry.”

You assumed that he would have figured it out, but to have him actually confirm it made you feel shy all of a sudden. God, it felt so _good_ when he comforted you like this, though, and the soft expression on his face made you weak. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, watching as his eyes flickered down to your lips, and you realized, then, that he was just inches away – that it would be so stupidly easy to lean forward and just kiss him, but you knew what a bad idea that would be.

He’d fucked up.

You licked your lips to alleviate the dryness in your throat, but that only made things worse because his eyes snapped back up to yours.

“We, uh…” You cleared your throat, feeling your face burn under his palm. “We have to get going.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sorry.”

And then the warmth of his hand was gone.

For the entire drive, you did your best to ignore the way your skin tingled from his touch, but it didn’t work. Not with your heart pounding like this. Not with your thoughts racing like this.

What a fucking mess.

“I hope you like Princess Elsa,” you spoke up – a distraction, or maybe just another test. You weren’t sure anymore. “You’ll be seeing a lot of her at breakfast tomorrow.”

There was a brief pause while Bucky considered your casual invitation. An olive branch. One final chance to get this right, and he didn’t turn it down. 

You knew he wouldn’t.

“Elsa’s fine,” he said thoughtfully, “but Winnie’s better.”

Another joke, perhaps, but it was the truth. You couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

Of course he did.<strike></strike>


End file.
